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POEM: The Goddess Letters (Part 6) by CW Cobalt


.51 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

you only exist in still images?

.52 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Ix Chel,
You are the only goddess crazy enough.

A nude, not in the conventional sense. Measurements on a canvas. Height, weight. The circumfrence of your nipples (both of them, as they are two different sizes) , & approximation of the color of your eyes, skin, lips & nipples. Samples locks of your scalp & pubic hair. Fingernail clippings and fingerprints. A precise map of scars, birthmarks, tattoos, etc, on your body. Maybe even the depth of your bathysphere.

Will you do the documentary?

.53 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Call only if you want to claw inside.

No, no, I’ll call you in 327 hours on the minute.

Don’t call unless you miss the garden tools, which are weapons in the context of your apartment.

I’ll call you if I need to borrow some milk.

Only if I need to borrow, not if I have some kind of ghostly dream.


.54 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

you’re a biter, aren’t you, bloodsucker.

Or at least, entirely aloof in the sunlight.

Your tantrums are legendary, as is the ability to suck off your cast.

.55 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

your erect & psychotic nipples; the most powerful on the planet earth. Pink pinnacles of success, monuments poking their shape into your blouses. Hail to your mighty nipples, more erect than trees, than bricks, than tentacles. Your mighty pink nipples, thrust into the mouths of a thousand hungry men, probing their mouth, ejaculating milk into a thousand quivering bellies. Amazing, the color and texture of your massive nipples. Power to your mammary magnificence, may your nipples stand forever on the edge of the flat earth. May your bountiful bosom crush a thousand knuckleheaded freaks.

.56 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Ix Chel,
an artist & his model, a film maker & his actress, a farmer & his crop, a scientist & his subject have STRANGE relationships.


.57 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


I had compiled a list of deviations, perversions that I invented while visualizing your ample thighs, freshly shaven, orange stubble fuzz withstanding.

Ten vile acts I desired to perpetrate involving the space of your tender thighs.

I decided against it. Sending you the list, that is.


.58 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Your speculum reminds me of a salad fork. Only I won’t be plunging it into the crouton sprinkled lettuce.

Eeeek, I’m terrified to look inside you, trembling over imaginary tissues. I can’t eat the tomato.

What’s that? Iceberg!!!

Like two ships passing in the night. Like two trains colliding on the track. Like two cars crashing into walls. Pop that latch open, man. I’m pale with terror. Yow, my TEETH! My tendons are twitching to pieces. Pass the flashlight. It’s not so easy to look inside yourself.

Mirror please, the ship hails at noon, the weirdest thing I ever saw.

Eeek, MAX

.59 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Thrusting your ass into illusionary space, you change the spelling of the word woman, whatever.

But I’ve seen you chatting about the pigs, the pigs & their penises. You shouting about little penises & farmers who can’t tend the field.

I, M! A! X! who entered a rehearsal with you & your cronies was objectified. What a scene. You there with X & Y chromosomes, making the most asinine sexual innuendos in film history. & all the time knowing no flesh would be taken. Your choice.

You cats fuck guys made out of clay. Hina, these men turn to dust. No wonder you couldn’t stand to look at them.

You made an ass of yourself when you took LSD. We have to talk you said, your naked image pulling at my limbs, your twisted mouth, spouting total bullshit.

Man, I had to get out of there!

Still, it is your imperfections that endear. Your muppet face, slightly scarred. Your long black hair, straight. Your breasts, o your breasts that flop upon your ribcage as you heckle them. Mellifluous nipples & all.

Why be frightened of your own frame.

You better buy some more language, Hina.

Thanks for losing my address.

Yours, in flesh admiration, MAX

.60 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I want to make a bronze cast of your bones.

Would you will me your skeleton when you bite the big one?

A fine statue you would make.

50 cents gets admission.

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