Original Poem: Flesh Theater

Flesh Theater by Fred Slusher

The cliff’s edge,
a salty drink;
cerulean & white foam;
home, love, & road all have four letters.
Home, love, and road all have four letters &
I tore me apart:
limbs, cells, sinew; all held together by so little,
a little blood, oil, & water.
Every scrap of paper shredded,
every thread unraveled.
Living in the empty
in-between is easy when
you’re unsure of your own tepid
existence. How can you tell someone
the truth which is that you feel nothing &
everything at once?; a whole cosmos
made corporeal, flesh theater. Applause,
applause! Exeunt all. There was a summer
I became obsessed with fragmentation,
fading into the woods of autumn where
I discovered restoration & took a job
selling bundles of violets by the
old movie house on the corner of 9th & Vine.
All the customers were wine-drunk & in love;
not necessarily with each other but with the idea
of love itself, the feeling of a mouth & a neck &
decades-old spit on celluloid.

Thanks as always for being a faithful reader of The Voracious Bibliophile. If you like what you see, please follow, like, comment, and subscribe to my email list to get notified of new posts as soon as they drop. You can also email me at thevoraciousbibliophile@yahoo.com or catch me on Twitter @voraciousbiblog. Keep reading the world, one page (or pixel) at a time.

© 2021 Fred Slusher. All rights reserved.

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