Vaikunta (Adult themes)

I hear you shouldn't describe your poetry, but most people get lost with this one. Here's a hint. Read the very first word then look at the format.

VAIKUNTA

Staggering through a neon fantasyland,
Where promises are made then sold.
Rubicund glows joined with steam from gutters,
Mosh and watch as degenerates fold.
Some kill time. Others await the Valkyrjas.
A custom of their occupation.
Edgy types offer bags of dreams,
For those killing time to use as recreation.
Chalk disrupting uniform sidewalk crease.
Shrine to some dolt’s final transgression.
Someone less mindful of they who appease Mot,
And their ill contained aggression.
Sweet voices of bacterial dakini sing,
Backed by viral seraph sisters.
Some hail the free clinic at dawn,
Orifices covered in amatory blisters.
Delights could be found discretely,
By stepping from concrete to disco ball lit tile.
Heads bob in dark corners. Nectars of Bacchus flow,
With fluids of mixed sort, and style.
Bringing a purse of street magic,
Earns a man an ardent Adamite for a time.
Placing their wits in a chemical haze,
Creates the sense this kitten is sublime.
Hearts pump with the chest pounding harmony.
Lies told to keep the night interesting.
G-strings vanish in gently swaying peaches,
That polish men who keep investing.
Some pay to watch a vixen raise Astlik,
Summoning contrived apogees with flair.
Men use caution on their side of the pane,
Chary of contacting the viscid chair.
Blurred focus caused by changing light,
Coupled with self induced irrationality,
Falters the mind shifting from cage to zoo.
Sway in the ruddy unreality.
Performers who’s souls outweigh their skills,
Present to Hathor and beseech your alms,
Guarding paltry piles of offerings,
Against reprobates who nick with no qualms.
Loki’s ilk in the kaleidoscopic crowd,
Stalking their next high octane quarry.
Yet for those open minded enough,
Intoxication is not mandatory.
Aromas melting into unknown mists.
Spilt bottles in brown bags, bile, and urine.
Clouds of Eucharist, alchemy, diesel smoke,
And scents imprudent to determine.
At some point Comus takes you under,
Collecting for this quest of escape and skin.
You wake wondering what’s worse for you.
Knowing or not what makes the puddle your face is in.

arsnydermediocrepoet.com