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Pornography by Frederic Levesque

Like in every torture chamber
You have to wonder
How you got there. Every
Peripatetic resident of
This greenbrown world
Knows that
Even in a classic car
Driving through painted
Backdrops of artful sunsets
And bad apple summers
You have to look back
At the pillars of salt
At the empty bottles
Some in the sea, some in the corners
Sometimes it’s just like
Piercing your skin
With bright colored push-pins
As if to say
There and there and there
And unfortunately
Why and why and why
(some invisible hand is turning the wheel
                is tightening the chains)
Some dead poet said
A shoestring breaking
Drives you to madness
Not war
Not disease
Not poverty
Not the torture
The shoestring snapping
The shoestring theory of the universe
At any crossroad you have to
Dig deep and ask the devil
The big hard question
“Did I do this or did you?”
but never ask why
if you take anything from this
                it’s gotta be that
When you wake up seemingly
From the pure black
And all signs lead to a dirty blonde
With shoulder blades moving like a vulture
Whose intentions to cut her wrist before breakfast
You have no answers for anyone
So you replay it
Moans like studio recording
Cut action cut
Fade out
And then politely try to say goodbye
But you have no voice
So you smile and wave
Burn the sheets, sit inside and pray
compress this scene inside yourself
And lock it twice
Gather up a million
Beautiful people
Dress them in pearls
And black suits
And take them to the river
Let them stand in it
Let them stop its course
Flood the world with them
And float away somewhere clean and crisp
To rewrite the world
Leave nothing out this time.
Watch a six minute video
Girl on guy on girl on guy
And eat something to fight off guilt
Try to match the sun today
And remember it’s
A dying star
Shake off the presence
of some prior life
People are just making a living
Frederic Levesque is originally from Montreal, Canada but now lives in Key West, FL, god-knows-not-why. He’s been published in Stillpoint and The Stray Dog Almanac. He doesn’t like writing about himself (in the third person that is).