“Flagellation Mambo” by L. K. Thayer

 

I felt like bubble gum was stuck to my brain
waxing and waning like the moon on a coffee break

I’d had several shots of volcanic acid to ease my equilibrium.

The slander beneath my magic carpet
came to a halt at the bedpost. My inner lining
was forcing me to come clean. My conscience
was haunting my iridescence. It was coming down
to the upswing of my hoop skirt and how well
I could balance on the tightrope of my hemline.

My bruises were oozing come-hither stares
as I led the parade of my masquerade.
Behind the veil of my Cheshire cat grin
of teeth baring shame, I revealed my
ruffled agenda.
I had nine lives to live, was on the seventh
flight of fancy, on an elevator stuck
on the sixth floor.

Round and round and round I went, leaving
baskets of candy on May Day, wishing it
were Halloween, anything but
my fucking birthday.

The cupcakes were lined up, the candles were
burning my flesh and ravaging my smoky ravine.
I was teetering on scandal and parody.
I had painted myself into a corner,
doing the self-mocking flagellation mambo,
in a brand spanking new pair of shoes,
leaving footprints for someone
to find me.

A grifter, a pioneer of sadistic synopsis
and cynicism challenged my varicose veins.
Eye popping, butter-finger burlesque, was all
I could rely on, that and a ‘65 Ford Galaxy 500,
with a bad paint job and a crocheted afghan,
hiding my ripped interior.

My heart raced with frenetic frenzy
and “why don’t you call me?” confusion.
My bottom was somebody else’s top
of the morning.
Humbled by the rocky landscape
and jagged desperation, I fought to
stay above board and ahead of the game.
Through the maze of carney’s
and bearded ladies, snake charmers
and Starbuck’s frappacinos, I was caught
holding the whip.

My fantasy of living in the lap of perjury
was going against my migraine. I was
sleepwalking and waiting for the day,
when the moon would switch places with
the sun, and hoping that somehow,

mommy and daddy would just get along.

L. K. Thayer’s Foto Fetish

© 2010

 

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15 comments

  1. Candice Rosales · December 18, 2010

    “eye-popping butterfinger burlesque “- and with that, my night is made. Love this.

    • lkthayer · December 18, 2010

      Thank you Candice, miss you!!! xoxo

  2. stevie · December 18, 2010

    I love this poem
    I love Lisa
    I love the way she explodes
    expresses her feelings.
    THis is loaded with emotion and energy
    THis makes Purple rain look mild
    the loss the lack
    the questions that are never answered.
    THis is a tone
    poem in beat and percussion a
    pounding on the heart
    a flesh calling out
    for sanity.I love it.
    a slow dance
    Stevie

    • lkthayer · December 18, 2010

      Love you Stevie, thank you so much 🙂

  3. paul mckay · December 18, 2010

    wow, what a word trip.

  4. Levy Lee Simon · December 18, 2010

    One image keeps me engaged for moments, but then there another, and another, and another….. This is real poetry Lisa. Thank you.

    Levy Lee

    • lkthayer · December 18, 2010

      My pleasure my dear, thank you Levy Lee 🙂

  5. Lordy · December 19, 2010

    Truly outstanding Lisa…….XXX

  6. stevie · December 19, 2010

    Love to you Lisa and Levy Lee.It was fun with you both.

  7. Marcus · December 19, 2010

    Tour de force! Eloquent & muscular, the associations, genetically modified.

    Marcus

    • lkthayer · December 19, 2010

      Thanks so much Marcus! 🙂

  8. Roz Levine · December 19, 2010

    Lisa,
    Great poem with awesome, unusual images. May you live long and write well “in the lap of perjury.”
    Love you, Ms. Juice Bar.
    xoxo
    Roz

    • lkthayer · December 20, 2010

      Love you Roz, thank you Ms. Poet!

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