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CONTENT WARNING: This poem gets very morbid.
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CONTENT WARNING: This poem gets very morbid.
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Treblinka
Treblinka
AGE 21 - Las Vegas
It sounds like a happy place to the hopeful passenger,
with calloused hands from what was asked of her
at abecedarian haunts with scowling names:
Auschwitz, Belzec, Chabatz, Dachau… enough!
She knows her ABCs.
The feast to spread before her shall be all
mother’s milk-tenderized prime rib au jus —
in cacophonous, homophonic cant
(panlingual panoramic panoply) —
with juice of jugular, to help it stick.
Mauve-crested goblets risen; brown horizons;
relinquished gold upon the sulphurous ground.
The travelogue lists sites of pure catharsis!
“L'Chaim! Willkommen in der hallowed town.”
Chagall has painted shtetls twice as bad,
which bend you out of shape until you fly.
It’s breezy there — with nightlife, and night-cries!
Where skinless flesh engenders sinless flesh,
delusions of carnality subside.
Then tourniquets and scalpels keep the beat
as stagelights circle installation art.
This flaming ex upon some map of cloth
divides the dotted lines delivering man,
and burns away the blemishes as marked.
Jouissance abates; a Karabiner handle
cracks her skull, vacates her ego like
all rumble-rotored hemostatic boxcars
sparkle… with their promise to affright!
oughhh what the hell man, the imagery in this goes hard. the places you chose for the ABC's stuck with me, i felt a slight recoil with some of these descriptions. the part with tourniquets and scalpels keeping the beat, the emptying of ego from the skull.. awesome.
thank you for sharing!