In the Lair of Dentiste De Sade

Welcome sir, we have been expecting you

Come. Follow me.

You will be in the third room on the right.

Relax sir.  My job is to make you as comfortable as possible.

Considering…

Yes, right.  Here is how it will work.

My assistant, she will monitor.

Won’t you dear?  Yes doctor.

First we will immobilize you.

My assistant will mount the block.

We shall dress the opening in rubber.

To block the fluids you understand.

And then we shall go to work.

Questions?

Now sir.  Once we start you shall want a safe signal.

Lets lift your left hand when you need to slow the choking.

Lift both hands when you want us to stop.

Lets begin then shall we.

You’ll let us know if the pain is too great won’t you?

We want our clients to be happy of course.

You shall feel a tiny prick then.

Next we will ream you, want to make a good impression you know.

What? Stop already, oh a pause, okay then.

If you need to swallow, clamp down on the frame.

Makes it easier you know.

The discomfort isn't so pronounced.

Alright then we have a good stiff stump.

We will be able to mount upon that for certain.

Want to tickle your root now.

You will feel a slight pinch and pull as we extract it.

Here let me clean you up a bit.

We are going to whip up some rubber for you.

Clamp down now and hold tight

Just for a few minutes

And then we shall do it again.

How are you for a third time?

You have no choice really.

I am in control after all.

Alright we will prepare the prosthetic now.

She really does a wonder job of it.

It will feel a bit odd at first.

That plastic piece forced between your teeth.

Like a bit I fear.

But you will get used to it.

And of course you have your safety.

Should we go too far.

There there now.

All done.  Was really pretty good now wasn’t it.

Lets get you cleaned up.

Straighten up your clothes.

Get all that gunk from your face shall we.

A wee bit more next week.

Thursday.

Your crowning achievement (humour that).

You are a good sport.

Sfumato

Joy jumps from the barely stopped car

Skipping to the field

She is held, spell bound

A deep breath

Fresh clean air

Full with scents

Flowers and grasses

Dirt and rain

The sound of locusts singing

Birds flitting in an out of the grasses

Fly through meals of hoppers and gnats

The songs of joy with wing whirrs

Bees and wasps and humming birds

Jump from flower to flower

Spreading life climax

Royalty butterflies dance around her

Lighting to her hair and shoulders

Kisses to her blissful harmony

Dragonflies run watch

Favoured guards to this empress

He watches from the canvass edge

The world of life aroused all round her

This is art

He feels

He believes

Monastic Spastic

Look at him

Railing against the acknowledged

Unable to ascertain what he so knows

Yet cannot comprehend

He makes his choice

To enable peace, withdraw

God has not made room in his vessel

And who can move against God

He can

Cause he can move mountains

All failures possess him

All futures inspire him

Move along folks

There is nothing to see here

The convulsive knell of a re-inspiring soul

Aspiring back

Now take him or don’t

He is as is

Honest precise

Disoriented

Yours truly,

Verbose Boot

I am the vorticist

Here amongst the pipes and wires and girders

Spinning my yarns and my poetry

A contrarian to my environment

Comfortable in my industry

The idea of idle

Sitting about and

Simply

Contemplating

It is a rare treat

The great tragedy of my humanity

This constant compunction to do something

It is killing us

It’s killing me

And yet we are feeling pressured

To do just something

I am the vorticist

In quiet contemplation

In the din of my existence

Aged industry

Boilers and steam

Air and whistles

Motors humming through the circuitlatory

Pulsing

Artificial life

Derived from physics

Observed from nature

All there in my simple grasp

The touch of a button

The twist of a valve

Keystrokes in control

I could do it

I could

I could end it all

But why would one

This din keeps it all away

All at bay

I am the vorticist

An artist the poet

In all this industrialist 
Quag

Reflexion

Wake up she whispers

His name

And “wake up”.

She always starts his day this way

A voice unknown and always welcome

Familiar

Who is she he wonders

Forcing his eyes open into the dusky light

The alarm clock reflects a trio of numbers

3-3-3 projected upon the ceiling

Askew to his eyes he smiles

Looks like three pairs of breasts

Chasing across the ceiling

First thoughts

The lights from the streets below

Project the mullions and sill and transom shapes of the window

Pythagorean

Triangles and trapezoids

And squares and rectangles

Across the ceiling and wall

Testing his feet

He stumbles

Once again

To begin his male

Dear…

He reflects memory, question, resignations

Reflections

The answer to one circle made

Sadly contently aware of what he is

And so it begins anew

The Shot Heard Around My World

My step-father (and I use the f-word loosely)

My step-brothers

And me

We march to the middle of the vast wheat field

Well they marched

I flowed around and around

In the belly high grain

Brushing my wing feathers

Across the tips of the yellow stocks

Leaving behind me a swirled path of my adventure

Entwined around the regimental step-line

A single shot-gun and a box of shells

Today we were going to learn to shoot like men

Like a Queens Own Cameron Highlander

My step-dad’s (and I use the d-word loosely) regiment

Dad, I say.  Did the regiment really use shotguns?

Shut-up you silly boy, it is only what we will use for training today.

He sets a bottle up on an old fence post

Counts back thirty paces

Demonstrates how to load the shells, one in each barrel

And shoots, and in an ear splitting roar

The wheat either side of the bottle takes two fatal rounds
You missed Dad.  I get a smack.

Each of my step-brothers comes forward

Loads

And shoots

And for each of the shots they are rewarded

With a trip onto their bums

I am certain somewhere a cloud or an aircraft has taken a wound

And I also wonder aloud where the lead shot has landed

What poor soul may have received a wound

From an unseen, unheard enemy afar

My turn is received with peals of derision

Dad, why the retard?  It is a waste of shot.

I point to the stay of execution the bottle has thus far received

And am rewarded with a smack to my head for being cheeky

I also have watched and learned

The shells are loaded and the rifle cocked

Rather than stand, a small child with a large heavy ungainly weapon

I drop to one knee to steady myself

I twist my right shoulder ever so slightly into the stock

And before I could be forced back to my feet I shoot

The bottle shatters, its sentence carried out, duty done

I reject the unspent second shell

And hand the weapon and unspent shell to dad

I turn and march back along the line created by the Steps

Until I come to the first intersection of my imagination

And again I flow as a bird in flight

Peaceful along the tops of the grasses

Snapping a few pieces of wheat stock

And placing them in my mouth

I am the dove of peace

Never to take a shot again

That poor poor bottle