Cutaway: Good-Evil in the Garden of Grapes

—go inside from eating Concord grapes fresh from rickety arbor, garden of fruit-fleshly delights, can’t resist globey-purple grapeflesh, sucking eyeball-center with juice by popping skin aburst directly into mouth, fruity pop-gun—

—grandmother asks, “have you been eating those grapes?”, she knows, waits, wants me to answer tremulous “y-e-e-e-s?”, knowing what’s to come, marched to bathroom by firm, unyielding hand, stripped, “you have been warned” but isn’t fruit for eating?…

—the gray-pink elephant-teat rubber bag with serpentine hose and mole-snout, taken from behind door hook, filled with cool-soapy water, petrol-jelly on snout, “bend o-ver!”, goes in and up, rests while grandmother gets off knees, releases little terror-clip, water-whoosh deep, up in, swell with belly-balloon, aching humiliation, now know good-evil—

Cosmic Camera: Sex #1

Close-up: sweated hand stroking nether-thigh, magic V, teasing, withholding—

Pull-away: crescent moon faint-light thrusting shaft into half-opening, soft-lie naked forms, glowing phosphorescent in moon-lumen, hands caress bare flesh, lust-electric sparks—

Wide-angle: elbow-propped, peering for facial expression, barely discern in bent moonlight slicing gauzy curtains, if thrusts prompt ecstasy, or—

Panorama-view: sprinkled-light houses scatter across rolling hills, couples writhe in tangled knots, missionary, teaspoon, 69, flying-X, doggie—

Satellite-shot: onanism, bestiality, cunnilingus, fellatio; single, couples, triads, groups; with donkeys, sheep, dogs, hairbrush-handles, fingers; voyeurism—

Snippets: Random Scenes of Futility

“found him hanging from the barn rafter, terrible for his parents to—”

“—poor Lanny, why’d he do it anyway…”

“—that he and Kay had this fight and he was—“

And so on, and nobody knowing why and really not caring, feeding off gossip, and poor Kay, because not involved, but implicated, suspect as cause, caught in I’ll-show-you tragedy of misguided futility of living—

—death-gray random clouds in bruise-yellow late-day sky threatening damp-July rain, up Falldown Creek at swimming hole, come around corner in the car, fast, and a line-up of traffic, people milling like awake-dead, auto-glass shards, blast-twisted metal, walk up to see, folks shock-frozen, blood all around, and Cox, faints at sight of own blood, walks through, lifts dead baby from mangled wreck, lays on seat of car, everyone standing, watching—

—making lay-in, fell, hit head on the concrete-block end-wall, missing protective padding hung for such occurrence, first year out of high-school playing for—

—freak incidents, acts of God—

Cutaway: Original Sin

— first slick wet-kiss, teeth-click, lip-smoosh all-around, rub bare mid-riff below frilly-edged halter-top, no-breasts sly-fondle, stands atop big stump, drops panties, shows plump-adolescent bare-pussy, shout over highway noise, “dinner!”, and I bolt, run like shot at—

—lying snug-abed, playing little-soldier-marching, Mother foot-clomps up rickety stairs to wee-garret bedroom, interrupts sweet-sex young-lad fantasy newsreel, “simple-minded, no-good, arm-around that little slut, rubbing up against each other, filthy animal, not good enough for this family, if you think you and a whore like that, you’d better think long and hard!”, foot-clomps down,

—who simple-minded- filthy-animal-not-good-enough for family?