Saturday, April 23, 2022

   Of Dummies and Damnation

It was then that we found 

he had gone completely mad. 

Lo but no there to 

where   he went mad. 

No how he came to go mad. 

For such kismet causal conditions,  

were here to be deemed irrelevant. 

Sin sentient spent as 

   insubstantial soul. 

He who here held no 

   substance of mind 

until that day he went insane. 

 

That his past possessed no 

present tense sense 

of whens did not matter 

for he was henceforth mad, and 

such madness matters more.  

Wherefore to deplore this 

absence of corporeality 

was therefore to embrace 

such grace herewith effaced. 

 

Thus trussed, he aspired to 

an attired mental mire of 

neutered    nothingness 

but this was really no surprise 

for had not his mother 

once said of him that he’d 

never amount to anything? 

 

Just what would dear Sigmund  

or good Herr Doktor Jung hope 

to find in such malaise of mind 

here mildew maligned by such  

ill-weaned moist mastication? 

He alone deboned, there 

denied of his mother’s milk—

a baby-boy banned from the breast, 

his professed quest to ingest 

a blest chest burbled froth-fest, 

therewith double-divest of thine  

mammary quite divinely manifest. 

And thus, her brutal rebuff 

of this his lurid lust for that 

barred and barren 

bust sustenance. 

 

This illicit coefficient that 

lactate nil equates to ill. 

This suckle psychosis. 

This nipple neurosis. 

This masochist mammary mania. 

 

Nay, if his mother consisted of milk, 

she there now only existed as that 

flow of fluid manna which seeped 

from the bottle he there 

clutched between his enfant hands. 

 

And as she of milk’s ebb 

came to dwindle and drain,  

there to leave naught but  

apparent transparent parent 

in the guise of glass beguiled, 

what was she here if not invisible? 

And indeed, what was that 

of he now soma schismed 

if not wholly in soul 

transparent himself?

 

Such his suckle reality—

that of a rubber dummy which 

hangs au contraire mid-air. 

 

This pacifier.  

This given palliative. 

Nothing left to life 

but a latex teat of 

ladled forth lithium. 

 

And what is he if not 

tongued-dummy dumbed-down?  

Here lulled midst the bliss of 

his cauterized conscious, 

therein sedately complacent,  

given such salivation salvation— 

he here holy immoral;  

now oral pacified.  

 

Ó 2022 Jack David Hubbell

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