To the Artist's Page                    To our home page

To Brent M. Parker's previous piece     To Brent M. Parker's next piece

Walking the Line (The Spine) of Loneliness

I
                 Who will ,
               Ignore the (oxymoronic) (already) occupied spaces
                (Occupied like Poland)
                And
                Sit determinedly in the farthest playfield possible
                (Playfield farthest from the blacktop, (cement block) (brick) buildings, and whirling tetherballs)
                (And stopping here only because of
                Stopped here only by warped chain link,)
                Occupying yourself
                Won't you?
Am
Glad
To
Have

A 
breeze 
caress 
all
of
my
exposed
flesh,
(any)
(flesh 
that 
happens/might happen
to
be 
exposed)
(Cheeks,
Forearms,
Hands
Et 
cetera,)
And
The
Hair
It
Issues
Forth;
(sprouts/ grows,)

A 
thousand 
blades 
of 
uncut
grass
Sit,
Slouch,
Beside
Me,
On 
All
Sides
Of 
Me,
Who
Let
Me
Pull 
Them 
Out
In
Hand-
fulls
And
Sprinkle
Them
Down
Again
Amongst
Their
Bretheren;
And 
Some,
Who
Lie
Flat
Beneath
Me...

                Ah, but...
                Even out...
                ...in...
                This far field...
                There are bees...
                In the breeze...
                And pollenous cloverflower...
                Growing...
                In the grass...
                And, beneath it...
                Are already...
                Crawling...
                Ants...
                And Leaping...
                Fleas...

i


would



be


    Only too -

Glad

To 
Have 

A                  
Bee 
Blow
Into 
Some
Part
Of 
Me,
Pause
To
Tragically,
Lost
In
The
Thrust
Of
Insect
Instinct,
Stick
His
Tiny
Stinger
Into 
A
Tiny
Point
Of
My
Flesh;
To 
Go 
Out
Going
Into
It;
And
Leave
His
Instrument
Sticking
Out
Of 
It,
There!

                Swarms...
                Killer...

An
Entire
Colony
Of
Ants
Crawl
All 
Over 
Me,
Over
And
Beneath
My
Clothing;
Ground-
flattened
Buttocks
And
Crossed 
Legs
All
The
Way 
Up 
To
Lost
Head

        Stinging Giant Killer Fire Ants...
        Who wait 'til they are all there...
        Present and accounted for...
        To all sting...
        All of you...
        At once...
        All at once...
        Then leave...
        For their anthill...

Fleas
Give
Me
Hickeys,
Speckle
Me
With
Tiny
Red
Hickeys,
Sip 
My
Blood
Like
Fine
Red
Wine,
And
Lay,
Plant
Eggs
In
The
Thick
Of
My 
Hair
                                 
                  Communal stingers?
                Relentless bloodsuckers?
                     


Please...

Ticks
Stick
Their
Heads,
With
Mouths,
                No!
Fully
                        No!
Into 
My
Flesh                                                                                no!
Until
Stuck
Tight
And
Gorge,
Bloat
Themselves
Upon
my
blood



Until
        I  

            Twist
                         them

out.





Brrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzze!
Grrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaassssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!

People.................................................................................................................

To the top of this page