Welcome to the world
that The World
decries and denies
even exists.

Musical Misfits,
Sado-Masochists,
the nervous Normal
all gather together.

Here,
I smell
the sweet scent
of Sweat,
Sex and
Sin.

Here,
I feel
a THUMPING,
DRIVING,
POUNDING pulse;
a primal,
feral force.

"Fog"
rolling in,
hiding in...
clearing then...
exposing us all.

Perfectly coifed
and costumed to kill,
or thrill
the gothic,
misanthropic crowd.

Here,
I am drawn,
feeling,
seeing,
doing,
briefly leaving
my world of restriction.

Here,
I am
not inhibited,
ignored,
or labeled by
my "abstract" aesthetic.

The soul,
is stung and strung
by a cracking black strap
(lotion lubricating more
than libidinous loins)
as it is beat and bound;
fed by the furious fire
of animalistic carnal desire.

Here,
I stand and watch
the curious pass,
and think that they
in fact are more
curious than me.

Here,
I am smoking (again),
hoping to quit,
knowing I won't.

The cold,
hard hateful fringe,
washes ashore
yet again,
to dance
to mate,
to collectively hate.

Black leather sweats fury
into the damp night air;
anger evaporates, now diffuse
in the dim streetlight's glare.

Here,
I warm myself
with caged heat
finally freed
from fatally captive lives.

Here,
I drink in
the vitality
and humanity
flowing from our flesh
as it's pressed together.

My eyes hug every move
of your heaving hips
holding my sight,
my chest growing tight.

Soft salmon silk
painted onto your pout,
provocative form
rising and writhing
in perfect rhythmic time.

Here,
I yearn
to hold you,
to feel you,
to move you,
to know you;
if only I could talk to you.

Here,
I think
of the "you" at home,
set atop my desk,
sitting in front of hers, 
wishing she were here instead.

I need you,
yet not you;
whom do i want,
the here
or the there,
across from me,
or across the sea.

Passion
(pouring forth from all points of the compass)
collects
and connects a few
for the rest of the night.

Here,
I live
the life
of fantasy,
absolved
of apathy,
resolved
to fight
my conformity.

Here,
I leave,
week after week,
feeling full,
completely calm
and sensually spent.

Here,
I forget
the pathetic,
moronic,
contrived,
and cliché
reality
from which weekly
I flee.

Goodbye to the world
that The World
decries and denies
even exists.

Goodbye to Ministry
fetishists
fantasy,
(and most sadly),
the fun;
Bondage at the Troc,
is finally done.