short stories poems,


Willing Dead Presidents

Posted by arley sanchez on February 15, 2011 at 3:05 PM


Oscillating lights spill electric paint,

techno touches

vanilla scented dancers


willing dead presidents

cling to red satin

and black lace,

techno pulses,

thigh high leather

and black stiletto heels.


Wild frenetic strokes

tapped on a hardwood floor,

oblivious to crack of guns,

a figure outlined in chalk

on the sidewalk,

grasping bloodied

dead presidents,

legs akimbo

and hands clasped,

his final prayer unanswered.


In the shadows,

willing dead presidents

change hands

to the clash of war drums,

pressed by sweaty palms

stuffed away with a wink

and a knowing smile.


Syncopation prattles

like a machine gun,

pleasures of willing

dead presidents

sought by kings and thieves,

makers of dreams

and broken promises,

pasted side by side

on starry, starry nights.


Steamy techno dancers

in black satin

and red lace,

kicking to long cool speakers,

a sea of undulating bodies

peppered by strobes,

oblivious to inferno fire


Orgasmic laughter fills

desert air

from a sultry temptress

pulsating in her smoky

neon ecstasy,

sirens howl

through the streets,

dangerous songs bristle

with tension

fraught with fear.


Willing dead presidents

skitter like scorpions

over sand.

Techno spiders dance,

terror glares from behind

a black hood,

ears shut

to the anguish of mothers,


deafening growl of metal dogs

grind through the valley

of the shadow of death,

repeat again and again

there is nothing to fear,

there is nothing to fear.





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