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Click herein Pigalle, the hotel window frames
the kitsch moon ballooning
over the Eiffel Tower
your reflection imposed
on this picture postcard image
for a woman of your age
your body hasn't let you down
you could still cat walk
along the beaches of southern France
your haughty breasts carried like trophies
your buttocks having resisted gravity
are more smug than snug
your overall posture is self satisfied
that you have entered your fifth decade
with a body half your age
so what is the reason for my discontent
why do I look at you and shudder
what stops my celebration
I have colonized your love
but this conquest feels like surrender
you make love like a holy whore
a missionary handing out charity
expecting the recipient's gratitude
to worship at the altar of your cunt
each day you feel more like a cross
outside there are barbarian hordes
whores and shemales working the street
their clients besieging the walls of this citadel
I want them to desecrate this sanctuary
let them carry you off like loot
Like butters said that beauty can be in the imperfections, for myself it is rather the placements of the imperfections.
I gave the 5 ratings not because of the beauty because I saw no imperfections,
it was rather for your technique and clarity of the imagery presented.
bringing to mind 'the moon's a balloon'; something very english about this piece, bogus. there can be beauty in imperfections, but it's about the woman's attitude - beauty of the body's skin deep; a beautiful person is more than a cold ivory statue waiting to be looted. clearly the N is left cold and wants someone with more fire in them to warm his blood.
something niven once said, about a streaker running across the stage as he (niven) was at some ceremony or other: "Isn't it fascinating to think, that probably the only laugh that man will ever get in his life, is by stripping off and showing his shortcomings!" i suppose the alternate interpretation of your piece, as seen by others here, is that the N is 'showing his shortcomings'.
As the poem developed, it had me thinking, of course, of barbarians invading Europe, then a civilization already in the process of decline. I liked the way you took those historical images and turned them into psychology in the first person.
Usually I cringe whenever I hear "cunt" but didn't here because it works well in stark contrast to "cross" in the line that follows.
with ishtat nothing else really to add,
stanzas 4/5 really hammer home a resignation to it all
I won't go over ground already covered. Bogus tends to be very direct/visual in his work, but the image which I liked was the unstated one. The image of the male who had failed to keep up with the lady, (she is a lady to me!) and this tawdry man who's only solace is to desecrate her, to somehow re-assert himself with her degradation.
Maybe I'm reading too much into it but it might be interesting if Bogus put himself in her shoes and wrote of him.