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bertie marshall


FROM TORN BEAUX... A WORK IN PROGRESS

for Kathy Acker - the importance of leaving behind words....

I, A SAILOR... MY JOURNAL OF A COCK IN EVERY PORT.

Everytime we dock in Rio. I go in search of Luciano.
Through the dusty back alley ways past open windows where gaggles of Puerto Rican drag queens hang out spitting love odes and black curses. I, a sailor follow the exquistie scent of stale sperm and sweat - perhaps I'm Mary Magdelene entering Nazerath looking for Jesus, my Luciano. I see shadows of his muscles crawl along the walls ruined ...I have no identity other than my desires which is my port. a saintly one, my arsecunt sending radar signals announcing my arrival into the city.

Luciano against a wall crawling with flies bare chested he takes me into realm called the death of loves genius, camera eye my lens zooms into details, smattering of blond hair on his chest like angels hair so faint - green eyes dilated by sun and
sex blond army cut - I gaze drowsily shutter slowly closes in between each shot I see his cock swing loose from his pants a crescent moon - a scythe cutting a path to sodomy - I want him I want him I'll pay any price ... this he knows we are silent this understanding....the black scorpion tattoo on his left pectoral comes to animated life, its gleaming black tail rises up injecting green poison into his left nipple.... the eye of pain ... the venom courses through his blood he looks like a granite statue crumbling his cock swollen a muscle bridge across his thigh ...he glares at me as though I could do something, I can't I'm transfixed by this little drama, drool now slipping out of the corner of his pursed lips turning purple ...my heart falls silently into the evening light ...he spits out an arc of horns and tails ...he looks even more beautiful ...I can only watch as he begins to massage his sleek ruby glans rubbing away as I throw dollar bills like confetti, whispering my name across his lips ....

a red admiral butterfly hovers above his head ...