Louis Wenzlow

 
 

For When They Come

There needs to be a
labia or scrotum,
stitches, piercings,
an abrasive to underline
the condition.

Animals must play
a role, signifying
we all inflict/suffer
in different ways, or . . .

Jars of eyes.

Brazilian uber-wax
striping down
to the sub layer.

Stray pubic hairs must be
plucked out
with surgery grade tweezers.
Off, off, you lendings!

Old men are babes again.
Pristine, deeper

and deeper penetration.
Pain and knowledge beyond
our standard electromagnetic
range . . .

. . . all so we will be ready

when the earthlings come.

 
 

Body Glittering

You are not comfortable
in your body.

Your barnacled seashell eyes
bludgeon the landscape.

Your elbow reflexes
only one way.

When you breathe into a cup
the residue is like a
canopy/lost dreams are beautiful.

FYI I am ordering a semen sample
for on your way out.

And can you read the chart
on the wall there, the lowest
line?

Caress those tiny letters.
Don’t stumble
over the finer print.

Softly now. Gently.

Others are coming, fresh,
glittering.

 
 

Love Lessons from the Monster Bazaar

Whenever they went to the bazaar, she always bought two, one as a nestling and the other for dinner, to remind the family that everyone is meat.

Another day, she culled only the adopted children. This was to teach un/fairness. The rush and primal pull of blood for

no one came back from there, yet they loved her like crazy, like Father, who only played for meals, if he played at all, until her grin that night, the smudge of red, lip smacking

vengeance, she said, was the secret sauce. If you could just bottle it, the world would forever be raving/ravenous but

what shocked them most when her own time came was how unprepared she seemed, increasingly so, as their slow-roasting hunger and love manifested.

 
 
 
 

LOUIS WENZLOW‘s poetry and short fiction have appeared in The Airgonaut, Cease Cows, Cleaver, Eclectica, The Forge Literary Magazine, Jellyfish Review, here in Jersey Devil Press and other places. New poems are forthcoming in (b)OINK and The Inflectionist Review. He lives with his family in Baraboo, Wisconsin.