Exotic Erotic

Three poems
by Saira Viola
Colonial Daddies #1
Where I was born is destroyed
The colonial daddies fat fisted me out of home and country
Where I ended up is ready to be torn down
Mr Swanky Wank wants more space to play with
He wants sponsored picnics in the park
A rebuilt skyline that maps the stars
Uniformed flower- lined streets and a
spray of Fair Trade coffee boutiques
Apartheid city : a broken leg that can’t be fixed
Salt licking- worm coloured meat
Cardboard boxes and crates for chairs
Sleep -deprived asthmatic air
Three to a bed -squashed arms
Yellowy yolk- pus blisters marmalade your palms
Swollen knees and sticky back- peel -on patches
fight fetid air mosquitoes
Glass domed nipples you cannot touch
Pig -swill and stolen bread for lunch
Corbusier style- chicken coops –
cage the working dead
the immigrants – the poor
junkies – booze -bums
psycho warriors -hookers
single moms – midnight train dreamers
and big- boss drug dealers
The system believes in that sweet nectar of greed –
But- I saw flames lick- spit the marrow off a toddler’s feet
Stop light : There’s a honey blonde in
a crepe de chine floating poppy dress
and a knife tongued real estate Adonis
They are grazing on artisanal truffles
Hunting for elephants and that magic
Fuck you Jackpot
as the curling smile of austerity
snakes onto one- eyed Pete
socking him breathless in the nuts
He wipes his cock clean
shakes off the dust and the lies
as two red suns wreath his dying eyes .
Pussy Riddim 
Retired porn stars  on foggy   afternoons   
       walking their pooches  
                   On Sunset 
 their pussies  on leashes—
            Exotic erotic
              They silk slit and streak 
                        through blue money streets 
Transient  bag madams sprawled 
       on steel  benches 
            Cat whistle 
         they hear  squad cars moo and 
            like virgin thoroughbreds  of the apocalypse   
                            in the palms of the gods   
The  final witching hour 
             when hot silver mammas 
 return to  the dark
             to their gilded cells 
                               in topless high rises 
   They puff on French cigarettes and taste artisanal cup cakes    
Ridding the elevator 
                              to watch 
            old X rated movies 
Alone in the night  under screw fixed stripped lights
Their sleeping breasts:  parasol mushrooms laid to rest 
Screwin’ The Pooch !
A step in a back room
A handshake behind closed doors
A half bitten apple
The black husk of a tooth
The putrid taste of deceit
A plain of scorpions on his tongue
A recurring nightmare
A Blood stained white sheet
Poison – petalled reasoning bound in green leather
A circle of angry voodoo feathers waiting to speak
Gelatinous begging to wooden faced clowns
A toilet slurp on virgin ground .

Saira Viola :  Acclaimed poet , fiction novelist song lyricist  and creator of sonic scatterscript. The legendary Benjamin Zephaniah praised her ‘beautiful twisted imagination’ ‘Polymathic genius,’ and counterculture hero  Heathcote Williams wrote
“…… Saira Viola, has devised some new designer drug that keeps you reading. The language is so powerfully hypnotic and occasionally so explosive you feel you need to pause to apply burn cream….”




Poetry (Flowers of War ) (Don’t Shoot The Messenger ) (Mini Rebel Book of Poems) (Fast Food and Gin on The Lawn ) Novels (Jukebox ) (Crack Apple and Pop)


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Scott Thomas Outlar hosts the site 17Numa.wordpress.com where links to his published poetry, fiction, essays, interviews, reviews, and books can be found. He is a Best of the Net and three-time Pushcart Prize nominee. Scott's poetry books include: Songs of a Dissident (Transcendent Zero Press, 2015), Chaos Songs (Weasel Press, 2016), Happy Hour Hallelujah (CTU Publishing, 2016), and Poison in Paradise (Alien Buddha Press, 2017). Scott is a member of The Southern Collective Experience; he also serves as an editor for Walking Is Still Honest Press, The Blue Mountain Review, The Peregrine Muse, and Novelmasters.

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