Monday, 7 April 2014

Torture Artiste

Leather bound, yellow, distressed,
Tortured in a garden
That cost too much to bear
The distance cultivated by it's own inevitable logic
Bore fruit in the form of a sadistic neddle prick
Foreshadowed in jest
Piercing ego cloud and leaving naked flesh in the limelight
as the limbs writhe and the pulse pounds
Shrinking, shrivelling into shadow
No defence left once the invitation is inked
Permitting violence against the person
Different fabrics, different crafts, a silk scarve to strangle hope
The Torture Artist sees only products, objects, subject to the whims of the marketplace,
As his assets appreciate and cheerful buyers circle behind glass
The neon flares, the liquid pours, the flesh tears and the little bit of soul seeps out
A little part of me bleeds out and heals over harder in a flat line
Further discussion would be asine
The fetish for things that intoxicate, things that hurt
The hunger, the thirst,the discarding of spent carcass, the polishing of knee high boots
All render it absurd
To consider an audience with the torture artiste any more than an offer to populate his next installation; material, emphemera, expendable

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