Aurora Linnea – 3 poems

 

THERE ARE NO WHOLE BODIES AT THE PIG FARM 

THE VANISHED PIG WOMEN RETURN NOT AS WHOLE BODIES
BUT PARTS:     THE PIGS, THE WOOD CHIPPER, THE FREEZERS

THE PALE YELLOW COMPLEXION OF THE PIG WOMEN
A FAINT DEPOSIT PADDING THE UNSOLD PORKS CASE

JUNK-STREWN PROVISIONAL RELIQUARY OF THE PIG WOMEN
THEIR CLOTHES IN HIS HOUSE MILDEW-MAKE LITTER OF RATS
SPONGE-LIKE — SQUEAK THE BLOODLAKE

THEIR TEETH
IN HIS EARTH

THEY SOLD FARM-RAISED
THEIR FACES SAWED IN TWO
DECORATIVE BOWLS TO CLASP THEIR HANDS
& FEET FOLDED, HER JAWBONE WHITE ON BLACK EXCREMENT
SHE A PINK SOUP SLOPS BASAL TROUGH OF LARGE TRASHCAN

THEY EMPTIED THEIR PURSES LEFT W/ KIN IN THE PIGPEN

WHEN THE PIG WOMEN RETURN
THEY’RE PHOTOGRAPHS OF SLOUGHING HAIR
STEEL CUFFS RUFFED POLYESTER FAKE FURRED
NIGHTVISION SUBDIVISION PAGEANT OF INFLATABLE SOW
WHOSE 1 OUTLET IN HER PLASTIC PINK THE FARMER JOKED
“FUCKABLE” // A THING PAST VALUE. A DEPLETED FEMALE   

SOMEWHERE FUSED TO THE DUSK AND WINTER SUBTERRENE 

WE TEETHE ON OUR UNSPOKEN OINKS: THIS IS SERIOUS EVIL:
SEETHING, SEETHING IN THE STY: MANY SISTERS, NEVER COMING HOME 

. . .

 

                                                                                 TESTIMONY
                      she saw a yellow crept out under the deathsite door, she saw a body the chain’s anchor
                      same as the man hung pigs; at her eye level was where the legs were, ruby varnishing
                                                                                                                                               the toenails of the body.
                      the man was cutting a thing on a shiny equipment
                      she didn’t know who “thing” was but full of blood
                      black hairs skeined long like a horse’s tail eclipsing

 

 

HE’S JUST A PIGMAN 

THE PIT WIPES ITS MOUTH
IT IS A BAD DATE, IF IT ENJOYS MURDERING YOU.

THE PIT IS A BAD DATE.

IT IS A BAD DATE IF IT STOPS YOUR BODY FROM WARMING. THE PIGS —
HE WOULD HALVE THEM WITH SIMPLE WOUNDS. SOME PIG MOANING.

DATENIGHT WAS BOUNTEOUS TEEMING WITH PIGS. PIG TRIES SHUFFLING AWAY
IN HER NIGHTCLOTHES. IT WAS NEVER DAYLIGHT // IT WAS WINTER THERE
IN THE DARK STY PLACES HE REPEATEDLY TOOK APART THE PIG

PIG FLOUNDERS

PIG CHAFF CLOTTED A SOLID WALL + EIGHT HUNDRED POUNDS OF FLIES CIRCLED THAT SQUALID PROPERTY THROUGHOUT HER DATE WITH THE PIT. A HOUSE WAS BUILT NEARBY. INSIDE THAT HOUSE, A HUSBAND. HE HAD EXPERIENCE AS A BUTCHER (HE USED TO GO BEHIND THE TV, BUTCHER PIGS) HENCE HAD BECOME INURED TO DEATH. THE FLIES AND THE DOG RECOGNIZED THAT HIS WORKING HANDS REVELED IN THIS TASK. HE DROVE HER IN HIS TRUCK TO THE BRINK OF THE PIT AND EVERYBODY, EVERYBODY WAS THERE, WAITING FOR A PIG. MY SHOES MADE A HORRIBLE SCRAPING NOISE THROUGH THE CRAWLSPACE OF PIGGY PALACE. SOMETIMES YOU GET SLOPPY, PIGMAN REPEATS, SLOPPY, SLOPPY, WHEN YOU WORK WITH PIGS.

THE SPASM OF PIGGISHNESS WE INFESTED HIM WITH.

THE PIT SAID: IF IT LOOKS LIKE PIG IT SQUEALS LIKE A PIG
SMELLS PIGGY PULLS APART IN PIG-PARTS LIKE PIG IT IS A PIG-PIG.

HOW MUCH PLEASURE HIS HARDWORKING HAND DERIVES
SOWING THE PROOF OF THIS

DOWN THE PIT
IT’S WINTER
“SO LET EVERYTHING DIE FOR AWHILE”
HE SAYS // THE DIRT STANCHES HER OPEN THROAT

. . .

 

 

ABOUT HIM MOVED QUANTITIES OF PIG SNARLS

IT WAS FAMINE SEASON IN SWINE CITY

THE PIG MAN SLOPS THE STARVELING FARROW
THE PIG WOMEN ARE DISAPPEARING FROM THEIR MOTELS
THE PIG MAN FISTS AROUND THE CHOKEKNIFE CRAMPING
THE PIG WOMEN GAGGLE BENEATH A BLANKET OF DISCARDED CARS
THE PIG HONEY DRIED UP, PIG MILK WAS BLOOD

THE PIG WOMEN
DENSER THAN WATER

THE PIG WOMEN SUNK OUTSIDE THE GLASS SQUEALING, SQUEALING
THE PIG MAN INSIDE THE GREASE BLISTER OF HIS HOUSE + LISTENS

PIG CANTICLE

THE PIG WOMEN ARE PARTYING GIRLS-NITE TONIGHT AT PIGGY’S PALACE
THEIR SKIN BRISTLING WITH NEEDLES. THE PIG WOMEN ARE DROPPING
THEIR BLOOD LIKE FLIES ALONG THE CITY’S PIG PATHS. HOT PIG GARNET.

THE PIG MAN GULPS AT THE PIG WOMEN’S SPOOR, HOLDING BACK TONGUE.
HIS HUNGER CLUNG TO THEM. THE PIG WOMEN CLUTCH SOIL’S WORMY BROOD
FATHERED WITHIN THEIR GIRL-PART GHOST CANALS. 

THE PIG WOMEN POUR THEIR SPAWN SWAMP OVER THE PIG MAN’S CEILING.
BLACK, BLACK + LOAMY WITH ITS FLOWERS OF PURPLE SCAR. THE PIG MAN SQUEEZED THE STARRY SAP THAT FLOWED ONTO HIS PATE FILTERED THROUGH CELLWALLS.

THE PIG WOMEN ARE SLOVENLY FROM “INTENSE EMOTIONS” (GRUBS IN THE BRAIN), DISHEVELED WHEN NIGHT SHIVS IN. THE PIG WOMEN RESORT TO ALL-FOURS. THE FARMHOUSE FLOORBOARDS CREAKING BENEATH THEM.

THE PIG WOMEN GRUNT SNARLING THEY CANNOT FIND THE PIG PATH BACK TO MOTEL, FOR THEY ARE BANNED; SWINE CITY SHUNS ITS DEAD.  THE PIG WOMEN SADLY TURN THEIR ENTRAIL-EYES TO HOG HORIZON. PIG PILGRIMS.

THE PIG MAN STARES INTO THE SOCKETS RAPE HATCHED IN HIS PIG WOMEN
THE PIG WOMEN’S PORCIFORM FREEBLEEDING OUT FROM FRESHBORN MOUTHS

SADDENED EYES OF PIG WOMEN GLINTED IN THE WINTERLIGHT
MEATLIGHT – SHAFT OF LIGHT MADE FLESH – BURIES THE PIG WOMEN.

PIG LIGHT GLOWED OVER THE VICTIM GROUND.  

 

 

aurora is no longer in collusion with the predator. she is the author of the chapbook “THIS MUTILATED WOMAN’S HEAD” (Solar Luxuriance, 2014) and has had work featured in .PLINTH. 

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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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