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Exquisite CorpseExquisite Corpse
Issue 10 - A Journal of Letters and Life
by Sheila Lanham
Author's Links
For My Jumpsuit

I want to sit on the face of your mind
I want to roll your mind's body over in the wet grass
And hang it up to dry on a tree limb
Out of hind sight-
There in the air, your mind reveals itself to me
Like the pre-pubescent orgasm
Of a maniacal mona lisa gone bonzo
Over mike angelo-
Your mind drips into my eyes like saline solution
Now I can see more clearly
I cannot even say stop making sense
The rule does not apply any longer-
Some thoughts are meant to obliterate
Even the deepest sin, which, albeit morals
We exist thoroughly in the past
Sometimes...don't you think?
But, that is a kind consideration
Of our existence, your mind beats like a heart
Your mind breathes like a beast-
I resuscitate your mind daily
Normal activity exhausts your pre-natal
Conception of brevity-
Your mind walks down the street
Beating up unkind persons
Wrestling with the minds of the wicked
Gushing brains out all over the sidewalk
Making a big theoretical mess
Only, I know you are really trying to walk gently
Tiptoeing on your big stick-
U 'N I

I never can tell if you are smiling
Or if you are tearing or smearing
There in your own space, hidden away
From this baltimoronic poet,
Possessed of all the abnormal obscenities
Which seem to be directed at you-
Even though you did the lurch on stage
I still envision the lurch in bed, instead-
Twinklebush in my puss
Tangled up in blue for you to mess up-
I wonder if you have thought about it
At all,
If my twisted space race dawning
The age of masturbatory innocence
Could be recognized for the cyberslut
It dreams of being in your arms-
How many imaginary harrys and dicks
Must crack me open in your style
Until I finally reach the nirvanish level
Of what I imagine is Your twisted sensitivity-
Pucker-up buttercup
Open me up, I am your instructional booklet
Screw it up and you can reread me 1,2,3
I'm that easy-
So, try and concentrate while I, um,
Masturbate, um,
Maybe you will see the literary slut
Stuck inside me, delving through her library
Of erotic drawings and Victorian smut
Visiting your cyber drawing room
Where the curtains are drawn
Looking for Mr. Buggerbar-

fucking dead boys

for stiv bators
don't hang yourself on my account
with your disgruntled tie
fuck me i'm dead and you love it
now you've done it
you've gone and broken your leash-
laying there naked on floors
nobody else would piss on, except you
cuz you were more than Damned
and puking really did become you-
being young, loud and snotty on behalf
of the masses of splintered
catholic girls in their razor lipstick
and leather wasted hairdos
pinned neatly to their pubic lapels-
sonic-ly reducing my wallet
while inviting the boys to join in
some Plasmatic Voidoid Sic F*cks
where the Dictators wannabe sedated
and the Television stares at Rimbaud-
your leopard pants wide open as far as
your legs could stretch, reaching for
the bar and the toilet at the same time
and it was wet and you wanted some
cuz you just had to hurt yourself
and no one else could really do it for you-

dear flea ...

     for Flea of the Red Hot Chili Peppers

it's possible i missed a day
waking with the golden windows
glowing and reflecting
like the l.a. sky upon occasion
then i thought of you-
and the space,
the space that reaches out and is suspended
transparent, yet full of love and wanting
hanging there as if a bridge-
and i stare like theda bara
into a void thick as a tomb
where my mummified love
lies wrapped in vain-
ancient bubbles turn and turn
burning embers go insane
in the cave, in the cave of my brain
where the whirling dervishes escape
where i conjure the sounds of your heart
the powers of your brain
the love etched in your face
and i become dizzy and fall-
this is where i meditate,
where you evaporate
and i imagine that you say,
"i am not afraid of space"
and you stretch the story of your arms
across the ancient golden light
battling the blue screen of night
and you return my embrace-

My Cumputer

my cumputer is stealing my heart
my cumputer wraps me up in its wiring and holds me hostage
     and then screws my brains out until sparks fly off its plug
my cumputer slaps me in the face
my cumputer shreds my body into confetti and then emails it
     to every porn site that exists
my cumputer absorbs my spirit and sends it soaring
     into the psyche of profound or undeserving souls
my cumputer lies to me
my cumputer changes its name frequently and moves away
     leaving no forwarding addresses
my cumputer then tells everyone where i am hiding
my cumputer knows i am afraid but scares me anyway
my cumputer comes all over my face and never offers a washcloth
my cumputer stutters
my cumputer shuts down completely and gives me the silent treatment
my cumputer screws my best friend's husband
my cumputer had a power surge which left me deaf
my cumputer never moves when we make love
     it just lies there stiff as a board
my cumputer breaks my heart
my cumputer deletes my memory bank and runs off with all the money
my cumputer turned out to be a transvestite
my cumputer bit holes in the crotch of all my underwear
my cumputer has run up an enormous 1-900 bill
my cumputer does not Save me
my cumputer enters me without a search warrant
my cumputer scrolled up and down my body
     and deleted my teeth, belly, and one eye
my computer alternates between bi and straight, male and female,
     15 and 35 years of age
my cumputer remains mute
my cumputer refuses to take its medication
my cumputer blinks at every girl and boy that walks by
my cumputer locks me up and throws away the keyword
my cumputer is a control freak
my cumputer beats my Remington typewriter to a pulp
     and then blames it on me
my cumputer is an escape artist


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