Dior-Ets, The Body Mass Of Death... Poem by Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr

Dior-Ets, The Body Mass Of Death...



So addicted to transfiguration
th' arteries are slowly cracking
fr'm th' bursting of liquid steel
until breath becomes laboured
oxygen sore anemic,
and you're no longer feeling
like Kratos or Sparta,
and you suddenly find yourself
over yourself...
frightened and tachycardic,
you can actually feel the pulse
of your Heart beating madly
in your throat.
And come the ghosts, images,
pflashes of your years...
like lightening, and presented
by a concourse of peopleoids
that rocked to Bowies' Spider's
as in Ziggy with his stardust
looking lean...but well defined
compliments of deadly guise
enabling instant performance,
yet, nirvana is a short trip,
as th' rush turns to overload,
breaking mercury over arteries,
and, escaping th' penetration,
how lucky you be... this time,
as you sware on your rosaries
to allow God and Nature
to harness your strength,
as you always knew the theory,
and mantra of a million plus years,
that the body be The Temple of Man
and, the 'Eros' of Life 'n Love...
such a feeling, supreme
for every man who gives his body
the chance to experience.



FjR-MMXVI

Saturday, October 8, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: addiction,machismo,obsession
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Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr

Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr

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