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POEM: The Goddess Letters (Part 3)


.21 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I keep having this vision:

Yesterday as I was driving, I invoked you. Demeter & marriage in the same sentence. I terrified me. Sal said: “Man, you’re spookin’ me. I ain’t never heard you talk like this before.”

I don’t even want to tell you about this.

Yours, MAX.

.22 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Images of you before your flesh swelled.

Sweetie, you danced across the yacht bearing a plastic boat. Now, your breasts have been pulled downwards. Your nipples are mighty still, but there is flesh entropy. Humans will feed on you, will still gain nourishment, but the image sags. Not the source. But the image. You are more beautiful than ever before.

Thus, men will fear.

.23 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Ix Chel,
Guess what.

Your vagina smells.

A pungent odor, I can smell it through your clothes when you get aroused. I can smell it on my fingers two days later, during rehearsal. Delighted, I usually want to smell you, to bury my face in your loins, & emanate vagina for all. Other times I am repulsed by the strong aroma.

Other times, I am the repulsing aroma.

O doriferous,

.24 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Every farmer on earth wants your cauliflower.

When the false moon crosses the spotlights, a goddess like yourself appears, & every man wishes to have your soup.

Your eyes turn all us pigs into crystals. Icy eyes.

Sorry, this is an image that has been programmed into me.

In harmony,

.25 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I put too much cream cheese on my bagel!

Now I can’t eat it.

There’s strange vibes coming out of the city.

Are you ever going to call me again?

Yeah, MAX

.26 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Patches of skin around your mouth seem to decay as you inhale. Your fingers crackle into dust, jaundiced. Clouds of smoke billow from chimneys that never existed.

That must be what causes rings around the moon.


.27 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

your gargasan breastas probably moosh, judging from the size & consistency of them.

The texture of your nipple must be very spongy & smooth, the same impression as bruised fruit. That when you lie down at a certain angle, your nipples stretch into oval forms. I imagine it’s not too difficult to tease your nipple erect.
But I don’t really know. Hina is so worried about her breasts. They’re titanic, & her nipples are so soft & lacking in nerves, that her erections only occur after diligent, dedicated suckling.

I cannot sleep, because I want to know approximate the texture of your nipples. I want to measure how big they are, & note their particular color tone.

I want to paint your nipples onto a canvas. In color, in actual size.

Sincerely, MAX

.28 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

None of the clothes you own fit you properly. You take ‘em off & stand before me.


I hear your car fucked up & you were too nutty to deal with it. Another time you got socked in the nose.

The eight people you’ve slept with. They say you’re incompetent in bed. I wouldn’t know. I’ve never slept with you. Had my only double orgasm, though, masturbating to your lanky bones.

You never picked up that I was hitting on you? You must be on Oklahoma Farms.

You know how to program computers, you stutter while reading Shakespeare, your white cocktail gloves don’t fit your arms right.

Your stringy hair. STOP. The pale melba tone of your skin. STOP. Your nipples glowing bright orange. There’s funny lint in your pubic hair.

Late at night, you yank a pile of watercolors from your closet. The room is cramped. You’re skinny as hell.

Don’t fall asleep while you’re on the platform!!!

You may have to move!!

The distinct image of you getting eaten in a projection room during armageddon.

Sincerely, MAX

.29 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Shit, you look like Betty Boop. But you have straight orange hair, neon lips, green eyes.

Betty Boop was black & white.

Must be the shape of your face.


Boopy Doop.


.30 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Squatting before the milk, you spread the butter.

Yeah, man, there’s the caves of the moon, not meant for the eyes. Are you fucking kidding me?

With no expression on your face, turn the light this way.

Ooop, MAX.

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