John Knoll

Andre Breton’s Massage Parlor

The Head of a Hungry Man

In my favorite massage parlor
Almost Heaven
a razor sharp pendulum
swings above my neck
Riding me
like a Texas cowgirl
a hooded prostitute
takes it slow and easy
tantalizing slow
excruciatingly slow
the pendulum drops

Timed perfectly with my orgasm
the pendulum stops an inch from my jugular
If I desire to have the pendulum tickle my
neck with a hint of blood the price
goes up which just makes sense
If I want to die having an orgasm
it can be arranged and I’ll be a
life time member of the Suicide Club

The pendulum severs my head
blood splatters the prostitute’s face
I stagger around the mirrored room 
look in a mirror my head is still there

I give the temple prostitute a reverent tip
drive home to an empty farmhouse
next to a corn field
Before slipping into bed
I turn my dead wife’s picture to the wall
The house will burn to the ground tomorrow
luckily I wasn’t home at the time     

When I awake in the morning
and look in the bathroom mirror
my head’s reflection is not there
My wife runs from our burning farmhouse
shouting “Surrealista Surrealista
get thee away from me”
I hold my head in my hands
run away from the flames
down a dead end street
named Camino sin Nombre


I am the Prostitute
The lover
The john
A gazelle
The taste of skin
Made of tree

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