Lindsay Kemp 1973

White face, baggy white clothes, white gloves, a ruff.
We’re not his audience. Some sort of fop.
Some lordling, yells for every single drop
of blood and talent. Never quite enough

For his harsh masters. To a minuet
meticulous he takes care not to soil
white gloves – he pulls his guts out, coil by coil,
then with a slightly staggering pirouette,

tears out the last few inches. Wraps guts round
his neck like garlands. Bows, waits for applause
grins anxiously. Pain sweat drips from his pores.
Mouth rictus-wide, a scream without a sound.

He fears his lord will ask for something more.
Has no guts left to spare for an encore.


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s