With Raven McCoy

Mike Bell/ October 18, 2021/ www.mikebellpoems.com/ 0 comments

She walks between pillars
of mild marble – pure veins
& upright [once a goddess

across my skin] – a temple
& a hall of blood’s vanities –
a fouling love-drudgery as

time ruled over experience
under her forking tongue –
shooting up has become a

thing beyond my knowing
of a sugar-sweet addiction
before bedtime for all men

taken in by quick chops of
nose powders – Frail drugs
pile her & men with thrusts

from underneath – pulping
of fiction’s first dance such
a cliché – her drug – her gig

to have me compete before
guests at Jack Rabbit Slim’s
Twist Contest – for thirteen+

years – You Never Can Tell – I
couldn’t twist through every
jive that followed – strangled

by self-centred stuff – From
that Tarantino-ness I recover
to state – I once overdosed

but expect less [adrenaline &
a chest-jabbed-recovery – fix –
something she stuck in me] –

& handed down watches will
not clock all movement [now
I have passed it on – my son’s

inheritance of time code] – as
film is processed we will learn
too much about pulped plots

& Butch asks of us all to keep
underestimating you  – Sleep
will cure us by a gun’s butting

across one’s face – I am tied &
frightened in a basement [as I
recall] – Butch put me down in

a previous scene – splatted – a
gimp-suited execution was all
I could bear – leather wasn’t a

gig on my list of wishes – Uma
Thurman played her part [but
my knottiness was Travolta’s]

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