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POEM: The Goddess Letters (Part 7) by CW Cobalt


.61 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The moon in Hollywood is no closer than it is here.

& it’s a fake.

Just because you happened to look at the moon one night, & saw the face of a rabbit, means nothing concrete.

Films are not myths.

You percieved the moon as a central entity because you were in a romantic geographic. But I assure you, there’s nothing concrete about the Hollywood Moon.

Except that it’s a trite image.

Surely, MAX

.62 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Blurry film 1 of you on a train track waiving a shirt. Still, hazy images of train station. Film 3 of your stationary nipple. Overexposed bleached out footage of your atmosphere face, flickering behind candlelight. Exterior shot of Hollywood Moonlight!! Medium shots of you in navy outfit boarding train. You are flanked by two unidentified men. Tracking shot of wheels of train, spinning. Fade out on you, topless through train window. Snap, Film 64 in the can.

.63 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Realizing that a great displacement in time & space is about to occur, I stride the hall in my high school, past Agriculture Lab. I pass thru a doorjam, & find myself in Elementary School, carrying my plastic lunch box. The character playing my “teacher” demands my milk money. Have none. Frustrated (!) I throw my lunchbox at her head & run for it.

As I sprint thru another doorway, I’m in a mall. I go over to the popcorn- ice cream guy & get a salad in a clear plastic container.

As I swallow my cherry tomato, I find myself in a film set with some vivacious actress. Her breasts are monolithic. She is wearing a white t-shirt, which she discards to reveal a fiery red bra, which she also discards to reveal huge maroon nipples that glow like radioactive turnips. She is on the bet wiggling. I am trying to film her. She is fervently masturbating under the covers.

I want her to remain STILL!

After a few minutes, she simmers down. I hug her. We kiss, she turns me over on my back, straddles me & mutates into a blank faced mannequin wearing a straw wig. I toss her off & her limbs crack off as she shatters like a brittle limestone statue.

I pass out of the room into a MTI reunion banquet. Ix Chel is there, Sal, Lillith, others. By the food table/ salad bar, I see Antitag, who ignores me. I sit at the table, telling my friends that I am being displaced in time.

The express concern, but can do nothing to help. I leave.

Things get nutty. Each time I turn around, I am totally displaced. First I am in ancient Egypt, then Celtic ruins, then Hollywood, & finally on some back lot of an apartment complex.

A hen runs past my path.

I am in a playground surrounded by trees. Angry, I jump into an inflatable boat & fly over some buildings. Across the river is the moon, tiny beneath me.

Credits roll, sappy music plays.

Yours MAX

.64 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

in “Jaws”, the sheriff and his wife drink wine.

“Want to get drunk and fool around?”
Says the wife, knowing it’s a cliche. “Sure,” says the Sheriff.

.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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