A La Mode

we do surely trust desire,
forced to walk this cold old road
forgetting how the heart will tire
of gravel offered a la mode
that French fashion found its place
in cavities and old boutiques,
leaving hearts without a trace
of sympathy for flushed pink cheeks
sticky with vanilla cream,
brain freeze eyes that flow with tears,
red meat soles that ooze and gleam
raw from pebbles, hopes and fears,
mercy cannot live for those
that French fashion comes and goes

Follow

There are no good moments fighting the wind, lips to fingers, fingers to air, blindly finding direction. Sand scattering erodes boulders and soft tissue. The Sphinx, its nose crumbling, lips chapped, eyes dry. Tunes come and go, lips to fingers, fingers to air. The wind is quiet.

Flesh Trappings

The flesh is a formidable enemy. Sleep with one eye open lest it attack during the night while your guard has been let down. Mental asceticism will reduce the risk of psychic ambush. Keep your loved ones close, lock up your valuables, protect your memories; the flesh will prey on these commodities without compassion or mercy.

There are a number of harms to be done to the flesh in self-defense. Interrupting the blood flow will debilitate it, and the methodical removal of digits will reduce it to binary code. With brutal discipline, the flesh can be stopped along with its tyrannical reign. Remember that the flesh wants you, but doesn't need you.

Metal

Occasionally I find myself drawing pits of black eyeliner around my eyes to see what it looks like, or salivating over skulls and bones, or getting thrills from Tarantinian carnage, or writing accidentally about death and guns, or cracking my bones to violent music. This is my evil side.

I recently sacrificed flesh to my evil side, jamming a nasty spiked ring through the curve of my ear. It deserves such a gesture of honor. Now I have something tangible to blame.