Pants and Kaps

Another reason why I don’t go to the morgue.

Her pants will not ascend up the body.

They exhibit the various mountains and valleys of exhibition

that exhibit all and every stifling opening in the land between the limbs.

The progenitors apparently never trained the lass in class.

Her pants will not ascend the body.

I slam the image processor shut

and beg the higher powers for more cloth

but the portrait remains hung in the palace,

exhibiting, exhibiting, exhibiting,

weakness and detestation in the wake of insomnia,

for she can spine-chillingly be pictured in the movies they show,

the ones with palm and sand and penetration for all.

When the tape ends its shift as a documenter she still exhibits,

plagiarizing the greats like a trombone entertaining itself with exhibition,

its brass perpetuating nausea and its horn emanating

aromas of catastrophic consequences

while it sits there like a prostitute, echoing the words of the vivacious

director in the silk scarf of silhouettes and the exhibition of pure animosity,

that pops and fizzles like the dying carcass of an incest ridden rodent

who decrees that Cersei is the finest in the land.

         - J. A. Kind