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SEDUCTION OF SUFFERING
Strangers have made my body
their landscape.

Seduction of suffering
is basking in the art of death
that is like an electrical shock
to a corpse animated into a life
that the artist did not speak into existence.

I am dancing in the mouths of strangers.

Seduction of suffering
is words put into a mouth
that possesses the body to act as a vampire
clawing for blood air
to get the fragrance of a heartbeat.

No stranger is left behind in my embrace.

Seduction of suffering
is a dismembered mind
working the dark arts
to rearrange itself into another game piece
and become its own sexual authority
and not allow Archon matter
to pirate an artist’s spirit
to make dwellings for its parasitic
creeping darkness.

I walk through the alleys gathering
the fragments
strangers have made from me.

Seduction of suffering
is dissecting ancestral guilt,
the sins of the Father,
the rapes of the Mother;
the suffering exiled goddess,
the barstool queen rusting
from the fake gold dripping from his legs,
who was made a Wanderer
who is still a phallic tear
of a male jealous God waiting
to be ejaculated
beyond being a mirror reflection.
And pain is dissected to lessen
the throes of death
from addicted behaviors
until you are so saturated
that you cast it off
like a gatekeeper speaking
seven devils into swine.

And you are no longer blind
when stranger’s body sweat drips
in your eyes,

and you become
a junkie to body juices,
and are in servitude as a dot
on a white sheet of paper
without connections
or struggling to swim
in a cubed existence;
while passion
is quartered and made sushi;

because the seduction of suffering
is like all seducers,
their time of impotence
is at hand
when there are no more mud dances
made into roadside attractions.