the clock's jeer

stop conducting an orchestra of pleasure
across my heart strings, miss hindley
stop putting it in my mouth; putting words in my mouth to narrate your arousal
such hoarse choruses to those blind to such beauty ;
its reserved for cracked dolls of time and lost attics


i'm like a broken record i can't stop skipping
and frolicking in the land of the twist, because of you
stop leading me to those youthful, spurting fields of grounded lives, miss hindley
the grass is poisonous; or so i heard from the wallowing snake whose venom
could not compensate its glory


i'm seeping all woman now, probably because of you
and those tapes of yours. you like to relive your iron grips
with fleshy vices of ivory pinching my thighs ; not too hard, miss hindley
you might make me bleed again. i might like to bleed again.


harder, miss hindley!
make me beg for the light.
make me writhe against the night.
let me tremble to my thundering temples for you.
stop reading my thoughts, miss hindley.
i know you're there, i can see you in the reflection
of my clock; it needs its batteries changed.