Illusory Spectacular

the floor is concrete.
it is
     a maze of amplifiers, microphone stands, drum cases
     matte and shimmering black
     gray and           flas
     silver and         h plur
     white                ality
it is
     the isolation of lightning
          the photograph—vised in void
          off the high dive—impact submergence
          exiting the parking garage
     the pandemic of thunder
          not a horrific scream but a cut to the train station
                                                                                         an echoing feedback loop
                                                                                                                                   an army
          at the gates…
a headset in black:     You’re on.
palms, fingers dig into your back, your shoulder blade:     Go, go, go!
shutters and shrieks—it is
     blinding.
your stiffened form conveyed to center stage
there is but silence
maybe a little feedback
it is
     difficult to see
beyond the spotlight.

here’s what they’re laughing at:
     you     r pudgy breasts
     you     r elongated and jaundiced toes
     you     r bulbous mons pubis drooping past your genitalia;                                 
and here’s what they’re pointing at:
     the maggots
          wiggling out the wounds in your arms
     the lice
          whispering through your leg hairs
     the helminths
          , cartoonishly large,
          dangling your anus.

STAGE RIGHT—
     stagehand rolls out the gold cart
     that’s Krispy Kreme, Coca-Cola, Wells, Mars,
     etcetera
BLACK SHIRTS, JEANS via GOLD CART—
     they souse youthey stuff youthey insert items
a RED THREE-PIECE—
     it
     it     bows before the crowd, folding []s hands in prayer;
     it     swerves about the stage, wobbling soft-shoe-like; intermittently
     it     presents the spectacle—
               a mimetic platter, []s upturned palms gliding toward the point.
and then it kneels behind you
ACROSS THE APRON, your eyes adjust, CHAIN-LINK—
     the crowd claws;
     it is
          a
          rattling
          scrape.
their laughter’s turned to growl
the RED THREE-PIECE—
     it
     it     slurps at your worms, licking []s fingers;
     it     flicks []s tongue.
your sphincter tightens upon each extraction, like spaghetti from a nostril
the audience—their teeth are impatient.
that RED THREE-PIECE:     Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen! If you’d be so kind to hold on for just one more measly minute now, I assure you, we will all be having our turn…
it is
     the flagrancy of your nakedness
it     is     
     the     flagrancy     of     your     nakedness
itis
     theflagrancyofyournakedness    
[] is the flagrancy of your nakedness| it
is
illusory spectacular

greatsetman is a writer of fiction. published in Bending Genres, The Collidescope, The Disappointed Housewife, and The Militant Grammarian. “Sunflower Polo” was nominated for the Pushcart Prize. midwestern.