Bangkok Deconstructed

Image

Bangkok deconstructed:

fractured concrete buildings, ripped apart as I watch from my Somerset window.

Steel, jutting haphazard in tangled knots; a once perfectly acceptable infrastructure,

now crumbling blocks fall into piles of useless rubble, while machinery scrapes the lot into a perfect square level playing field.

Ready for the next wave of antagonists selling prosperity,

pins & pegs.

/

Nips & tucks,

scalpel’s cutting across corners, aligning smooth curves with invisible sutures.

Skin, falling into plastic bags; trophies with twistie ties, all captured by Five Eyes.

Fat globules disperse & intermingle among the blood & yellowing toxic waste,

stretch marks & saggy skin. Torture under white lights (hung, drawn & quartered), like medieval madness.

Discarded pieces of meat/flesh going up in smoke, incinerated into giant plumes.

*

Rancid ashes & suffocating dust resuscitating enlightenment

into a new age.
© Copyright 2018, Jodine Derena Butler & Poetry Out West. All Rights Reserved

Invisible

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Fey

An emotional midget lives inside my fettered mind. The sprite kind, green as the Irish, young like Danu’s children dancing, invisible to most save Fey. She is gullible, easy prey for those with nothing better to do – they say opposites attract: I am like rat bait.

She is not quite right in the head my sprite but don’t get me wrong, she might have a little hunch in her brain stem, walk around muttering under her breath, but she is conjuring up Narcissus in an attempt to fill up the holes in her white tunic.

How she came to be this way is a long story, suffice to say that public humiliation is akin to Oedipus Complex
with a tiny bit of Penis Envy on the side; there is nothing quite like having an orgasm at someone else’s expense.
If you are a man, well I guess you just grew a little taller, women, maybe just a little bit smarter.

My sprite has been known to feign a smile. Rather than cower in the corner, she has worn patches. I heard this one woman say she would never
have plastic surgery on her face, (in male company of course), then make an appointment to have her breasts enlarged, the bags under her eyes lifted.

I wear my heart on my sleeve most days melancholy. She plays while listening to The Pied Piper watching hoards of people leave single file.
Emotionally speaking, she is not known to accurately sift thoughts; binge eating her way into the Guinness Book of World Records, one defiant leap of blind faith at a time.

My wee lass likes to be alone, but craves the company of others so she doesn’t have to hide. Once upon a time there was no such thing as social isolation, the preferred title was Witch rather than loony toon. She thinks too much, trying in vain failing miserably; second sight may as well be as viable as the second coming.

In my mind, my confused emotional midget state of a mind, I am wondering where she has been and where I am going. Most days I re-live the past with distorted accuracy staring into the wide blue yonder sitting on my desktop. She looks out on to a Google landscape, straining. I can’t see the wood for the spam.

© Copyright 2010 Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved