HISTOCK'S DAMES.( Strong language)

[dadio]

Histock knows most of
The dames lie to him.
It’s in their blood and
Menstrual flow. He smokes

And drinks and bets and
Fucks and let’s his day
Grow wasteful with the
Failing orange sun.

The last dame, the big
Brunette with meaty
Breasts, who knew nothing
Of Kafka’s books or

Kandinsky’s art or
The operatic
Arias of Berg
Or Mozart, sank her

Sharp teeth into his
Naked flesh, sucked him
Dry of his winsome
Seed, let his body

Ache and his soul bleed.
Sure, Honey, come back,
Bring a younger bright
Sister, I’m the make

Love to all dames, kind
Of mister. Histock
Sits and watches the
Moon wax, wane, and wax

Again and listens
To Mozart and some
Dame stretching out some
Aria to the

Far corners of the
Room. The cigarette
Glows red in the dark,
The smoke rises like

A silent prayer, the
Dames have all gone, just
Franz Kafka’s cold ghost
Descending the stair.

[Hollweg]

Again, dadio -- I much appreciate how you hide your rhymes.

Your created worlds are certainly populated by many dissolute types. While these worlds appear to be dystopic on first reading, in the end, most involved seem to draw satisfaction at some level from what they are and what they get from their lives. I am intrigued by the reference to the "cold ghost of Kafka." I suppose it could be said that Histock's existence is Kafkaesque but, despite the "last dame's . . . sharp teeth," I don't sense the menace here that I think of with Kafka. Maybe Histock is the menace at some level. Maybe he and Kafka's ghost just commisserate on how disorienting and senseless life can be. It's intriguing.

These line are very good:

The smoke rises like
A silent prayer

A burnt offering.

[judih]

the painting is such a brilliant conclusion to this detailed portrait - a cyclical experience

[dadio]

Thank you Hollweg & Judih.