Pincushion

By LittleWing

I was asked to post the words to this, so here you go. :)

I always liked the
photograph of Noir Kennedy, not kissing
babies, but lying on the cooling board,
Knowing future generations will
trace his mangled features
And on one afternoon.
I take a shovel and dig an old family
from under the Cherry Blossom,
and leave them on the kitchen floor:

The mother banged nails in her hands,
waiting for stigmata,
she was lipstick thin, soaked in
gin and Cava. She hid behind the
curtains and rested the weight of
her serpentine jewels,
took in fourteen year old fools,
and made lovers from them and
their fathers.

The father was a Monet of misfortune,
every sad small impression devised
a Requiem of sadness, a misshapen
canopy of guilt, he smoked pear cigarettes
and tended his curio jars of
eyes and ears and shrunken heads;
He wanted to be
an hourglass child.

The sister sat golden like
Christ between two thieves,
breasts draped in rosary beads -
On one ear Cassiope kissed and carressed
Her on the oboe, while en face
the Devil made grammatical suggestions
and Fellatial indiscretions.
She was just a vessel, a pot,
a petal.

The brother ate living things,
trapped with jam and garbage bins;
his phrenology suggested genius
or incest. The capricious premise,
spectacular kiss, he married
a pincushion aerosol Queen.

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Pincushion

Created: Sep 15, 2009

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