Mind Caviar Poetry: excerpts from "the snake that ate the snake" by D. Illovichny

D. Illovichny is a house countess who resides at Bathory House with her betrothed, their precious Imp, a jackal and three felines, Natas, Pyewacket and 13. She is the second of first-born female Scorpios. Her obsession with sex and death began on her fifth birthday when John F. Kennedy was assassinated, preceded by her viewing of Todd Browning's Dracula.

Correspond with D. Illovichny. Visit D. Illovichny's home page.

~excerpts from~
the snake that ate the snake
a tale of many debacles
with no apology to the other snake
by D. Illovichny

debacle VI
burrowed in the sand by the river

Unveiled by daylight exposed to the serpent,
innocence drenched within.
Immune from expectations that yield disgrace,
staying afloat in liquid libido,
enchanted, the ritual begins.
All the pain of living and dying drifting away,
the ceremony of immersion ends the crave.
The pyre inside is ignited by champagne,
jolting the virgin whore sinless.

debacle VII
snake charming lust in the lair

Deserving intoxicating sleep,
atonement, or kafkaesque tease,
no ancient warped sense of obligation.
Slinking over complete and untouched
with only desire for the primal and raw.
Is it pure evil or pure holiness,
this place you have brought her to?
You now possess who she is.
For all the sins of pain and loneliness,
she is forgiven.
The innocence of virginity passing between
willful, wanting, clawing away.
She is made whole.
No strikes against her.

debacle VIII
dusk in the viper pit

A kiss on the cheek,
sweet dreams, it's not her affair.
Her semantics assault your senses.
She's animated, she's reactionary.
This you despise.
She's comfortable and not shedding it.
You say she's funny, well she's not.
She's hurting.
You can't see beyond your own skin
to recognize that you originated the sin.

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