Rauan Klassnik – 5 poems

 

From (Panels) — (2)

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _On the beach we prepare. Like always. Hours of masked fucking. Orchestrated perfectly. To deaden the head. And then we go for the whales. Under the waves, though. With our blinding lights. And they show: Like lambs—prancing about. And we swoon. In the tall bright grass. Ants, in globs, of wax_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ When I think of the rape I don’t see you at all. But a dwarf on a bridge—his mouth tinged with blood and skin flexing like cold water. Forgiveness tightens around my neck. There are trees in this picture. Glowing in glacial still. And your hands, when I look, are filled with scarred moths_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ I’m in a car, in a tunnel, and they’re down from the hilltops, sucking my wrists through the window. Like grass. Omniscient. And creepy. A white ball tilts back and forth. And then the Queens arrive, barge in, tiptoeing, to see if the job’s been done. Wipe the pus from my eyes_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

 

 

From (Panels) — (3)

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _When Caesar was burned the godliest men and the prettiest women tore off their clothes. Their swords. Their jewelry. And their skin. So they could melt on top of him. You told me this, grinning, as we lay together, staring up through the blue. They waxed. And they flailed. Heroic. Full of stamina. Bent. And red. Fluttered down_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _You drive the blossoms down through me to collect in my anus, balls, penis and chest. You’re the best, you and your gun. You’re the best, you and your gifts. The blossoms have clotted. It’s hard to pee. To cum. To breathe. In this car-load’s trench. Bees and sap. While we play together. And cruise. Like rust on an old nail_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ The Countess next to me’s all blacks and whites and bright red lips. Like a wave full of children marooned in a far-off land. She dies in a car wreck. And some say she deserves it. Say this in bed. Post coitus. I’m on the porch, chest bare, hands at my sides, holding a pair of decapitated snakes_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

 

 

From (Panels) — (5)

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _You aren’t glass but everything’s fizzling. All the whites and the tits and the green-blinking eyes. You’ve sliced your finger. You’ve sliced your lip. The flowers are perfect: Like a theme. Or a rabbit, nestled, here, then there. You’ve sliced down through your nipple. The lake twitches. Like tulips. Twitches. Delicate, blows, of blood. Clouds_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _In Kansas you’re licking the scabs on my arms. In Russia, peeled, down, under cold, dark stars. No!. . .But you’re on the couch with me as your sister bangs away at the door. . .The Messiah!. . .A true genius, bleating psycho. Hefting her baby in a spin. . .A Princess, squatting on ruined marble, pouting, her lip, violently, bled. . .The assistant, in the bank, with long coils of hair _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Wings, blue and white—scraped. A bed, darkening. Wind, red and green. Perfect and modern. Level walls. And manicured grasses. A small girl’s fantasy. A lizard rotted with blood: An after-party. Blooded with agony, thrusts, and horses, tiny as doves. Decapitated. And dragging around. A glove, twitching, in the hedges. Sunset_  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

 

 

From (Panels) — (6)

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _You adored your brother. And this bothered me. But you boasted, then, how he’d thrown you out after his last orgasm. Bathed with you like he was drowning you. Yeah, even as he sailed grinding away at you, you smiled, sourly, on the steps of his five thousand makeshift brothels. You and your insatiable victim’s face_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Millions of souls have gone into her neckline. The cut of her skirt. The smoke around her eyes. She has no idea—no!—she would grow so powerful. In peacocks. Elephants. Las Vegas lights. And yet she has—Feathered, Skull, dwindling. Torn away. Stars—and flowers. A God, kneeling. Pretending.  In scars. And smiles_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _I’m an executioner’s head, staring, through a mirror. My chest’s hairy as an ape. A woman, bound, face down, to a cold steel table. And small angels, gray, dancing about, baying and whistling. Limbs churning. Like a chimp. This ends underwater, with my navel, attached, to a swing. Beating, with slow, dead, static_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

 

 

From (The Moon’s Jaw – Suicide: The Girl) — (3, 4, 5)

——Disappearing——In A Field Of Poppies——
——Eternity’s Torn W/ Sunsets——Beautiful & Charming——
——Rushing All Over Us——Pulled Up Thru Her Bruises——
——Mussing Her Curls——Peeling The Hooks From Her Back——
——A Goddess Delivered——Jerked Under——Ribs——Buckled——
——A White Yacht——

The stars glimmer like small blurred-red flowers—& lying next to you, she presses a talon against her clitoris . . . Swollen, like fire . . . & rips up. Thru her navel. Chest. Neck. Teeth—Clenched. The top of her head . . . & it’s all so brilliant—& chic—She just absorbs it—Lying back, arms, spread . . . Like the waves of a crucifix . . . Her eyes brighten. Hardening: Paled . . . She bleeds out—A carnivorous flower.

——Jarred Like A Rat——In Bed——W/ A Hard-On Sparkling——
——Petals Shred——Dazzling Round Its Head——“You Have Such
——A Kind Face”——She Says——Like Making Love——
——To A Corpse Scratching——Its Face Praying——
——In Its Blood——The Universe——Blossomed——In Every Way——

 

 

Rauan Klassnik was born in South Africa, matured in Dallas, and now lives in the Pacific Northwest. His 2nd book, The Moon’s Jaw, has just been released from Black Ocean. Rauan likes to sleep, eat and tweet.

 

 

 

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About gobbet

gobbet is a literary magazine dedicated to publishing the very best experimental poetry and prose. Intellectual perversity and explorations of dark themes are positively encouraged. We are only interested in work that is progressively experimental. We want to see risks, and we want to see them pay. No previously published work. Prose should not be longer than 1000 words. There are always exceptions. Send 3-5 poems. Include a short bio. Send submissions to gobbetmag@hotmail.co.uk Work will be published every 5-10 days. We also intend to publish anthologies of selected work published in gobbet. We will do our best to reply promptly. Most submissions will receive a decision within a month.
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