Machine of Death -- An Entry Too Late

AMAZING SEX
"So what have you got there? Looks pretty colorful, and how fitting you're using it to paint your cheeks that same red. That's cute. I bet you can barely taste whatever is in there. No, not barely, I bet you can't even taste it at all. It's just as cool and fruity as something your good ol' mom would serve you on a hot summer day. The glass perspiring in a way young kids just don't. Definitely not you.  No no, it was years before you felt the awkward dampness of teenage years. No matter--HEY, TWO MORE OF THESE--you're probably wondering, 'Why two?' well it's amazingly simple and obvious if you think about it. But you didn't come here to think, so you'll have to forgive my assumptions that you'd be inclined to think. Or don't. Really, it doesn't matter. The second is, of course, for me, as it's the quickest way for me to share that taste in your mouth. Which serves dual purposes, I'll let you know. The first being that I'll get to know if that's really something I want. Honestly, who wants to be involved with some putrid, over-sweet mess? Sickening, and the last thing I want to worry about are the calories I'm putting on just sticking my tongue in your mouth. The second is much more subtle and is greatly overlooked by the youthful masses. You see, a lot of people just go right at it, and sure, that has its place. Just like atomic bombs or those triangular bayonets banned by the Geneva Convention. But that's now how you do it if you want to do it right. See, you have to think of it like an airlock. Like you're traversing some great differential and you don't want your eardrums to blow out or your eyes to explode or something equally grotesque and off-putting--so you ease into it. Nice and slow, the change barely noticeable until wait-a-minute… your tongue is halfway down my throat! Haha! Oh, don't act so prudish. I saw your look back there. Yeah, the one you gave me when I was back there with the guys I came in with. And lest I forget, I've got your number right here. No, that's not literally your number, but if you read it I think you'll get my meaning. Printed today. I've got the prick to prove it. Haha, get it? Check the numbers; that's from an official Machine, and you know nobody can fake these things, anyway. Mm, this drink is amazing by the way. ‘Open the pod bay doors, Hal,’ if you know what I mean. Back to the card though. That's right. Now tell me that's not exactly what you want right now? Exactly what you need? Sure, sure--there's no way to be sure that it will be YOU, but when's the next time you get an opportunity like this? Think of the anecdote--the story! Shit, how many people can say they fucked someone's brains out and have an obit they can point to? But whatever, maybe I was wrong to come over here. You know, this drink isn’t even that good. Who would order this, except someone completely out of their league. Someone who really shouldn’t even be at a place like this in this first place. Do you know the bouncer or something? Look, the clock is ticking for me, obviously, and I'm vibing you're not the one anyway. So… what's your friend drinking?"

Tangram Tiger

I see in you the padded battles of matchbox dioramas
sabers drawn to clash harmlessly and dull—
where plastic death reaps over the die-cast and cutouts
sparing, but magnifying the spared ‘til their boots melt together
or their bayonets creep to hang bowed and useless.

There I am, gathering broken arrows on hills of stretched felt
while transatlantic babes stomp and splash in the pooling drops of my dreams.
They’re clocks, so meticulously constructed but flowing
and collecting in the folds of fabric, taut like skin on tribal drums
or the bold taxidermy that keeps your bed warm.

But what echoes in the primal scream of tigers no longer displayed?
Their lowest pitches I can’t hear, but see ghosts register and queue in doubles
readily devoured by aching mouths bound open and tongue tied
as they whisper expository plaques into cool earpieces
and dissolve slowly like communion wafers before their etherial lover.

The management is afraid you’ll steal the souls of the soulless
but I don’t think they considered where you’d keep them
since your bag’s checked and you’re sleeveless,
but they’re right to be cautious near the artificial tall grass
because you’re terrifying in those slimming stripes.