P1170506

Brief Encounters with Sculpture: 2. Notre-Dame de Paris (Our Lady of Paris)

August 23, 2016 12:29 pm Published by

Encounter 2: Notre-Dame de Paris (Our Lady of Paris)

My toes are cold.

Perhaps it’s the weather,
or poor circulation.
I am stood still, waiting…
Waiting to enter

OUR LADY OF PARIS

A magnificent body.
A complex circulatory system.
Pumping the masses into its spiral course.
Ascending.
Accelerating.
Squeezing me through its narrow passages.
Becoming stuck.
Clogged.
Congested.

A defiant body.
Your great organ,
Oh that warm and lyrical heart!
Having survived the tumultuous revolution,
Beats on,
and on, and on,
and on, and on,
and on, and on,
Loosening this build-up,
Thrusting oxygen rich air into lofty ceilings.

Head rush.

Here I am at the top of your head,
the wind carrying that sweet voice up to my ears.
I look down at your rib cage of channels,
carrying away shit and rainwater,
through sloping troughs,
towards the powerless and lethargic BEASTS!
that try to do their work.

With droopy heads and dislocated jaws,
With gaping mouths and flabby tongues, that
Spit
Shit
Spew.

        Dribbling liquid into the pit of your stomach.

Blurgggh!

Gargoyle, from gargle, from gullet.
From throat, to mouth, to taste.
The taste of dirt and rain,
produced by those gothic juices,
that drip from your piss-holes and tear-ducts,
onto my outstretched tongue,
whetting the appetite,
and covering me in

A GOLDEN SHOWER.

Short lived.
Spat out.
Sliding back down your throat on a stream of saliva,
I land in the pools around your ankles,
having enjoyed the feast,
now lying in the excrement,
my glands swollen, throbbing,
my eyes wide, glassy,
my head tilted back,
mouth open,
left gasping,

Let me go!
And pray tomorrow gets me higher.