(the ghost that humanly fell in love)
softened angles of an emboldened yellow me, symbol shaped into an entity ordained Playrub
The Father, honcho almighty, I built a nirvanic escape room, Swampeven, with a male Baddam
and female Marleve, a remit to be naked, free and good, but they ate aphrodisiac spores of shrub
weeds, indulged erogenous zones, stroked snakes in shame, to cover up, swaddled in creepers
I’m Playrub The Son, unified but self-existing as dense lilac sub-sections (shush…, don’t tell
but we decide the rules, we can fornicate any way we like) and daddy deus came up with this
harsh tragi-comic sacrifice routine starring me, wearing only a sporran, submerged in a glass well
of diluted rectal seepings (viewed by billions of streamers), I fake die of toxins, save every soul
lilac grains of Son, me the gaseous god, Playrub The Holy Ghost, my task to road test falling in
love with a lady on a 1-day-stand encounter, drinking wine, she took her boot off to prove a size 4
foot, our thing ending in mute calls, love’s asphixiated silence (her blue sock, pink cancer tibbon
both posted to me) – if my aorta was actual, it may have ruptured, to bleed otherworldly tears
.
Vincent de Souza
Note: this poem was written as a voice evocation inspired by an individual abstract
ink painting by David Miller, named by him “diptych”.
.