'Penis Rock' by Tantra Bensko
Penis Rock by Tantra Bensko
Marilyn Is Bored Being Dead
Music by Christopher Aitken

For so long she longed for this, welcomed it, was
sick of men grabbing and poking, goring and banging
her around. The stillness, pillows of leaves,
better than a hairy sweaty body. Now though she's a

little restless, wants a change. It wasn't all
those penises and knives of various shapes, tearing
leaving a mess inside as much as the time it took
from learning lines, how she had to fake it

all rushing to the studio. Not much different from
playing any part. A penis of her own might be like
having a daughter, something she could make
into what she chose, or at least try to. A way

to get to the unreachable. She thinks of one ex-
husband who whispered what was real was the word
made flesh and mourns "penis," that skin rocket
thru roots of trees, thru crumbling branches and

then feels, thru her shroud which really was
the black velvet she had closest to that last bed,
something poking up, a little bulge like a
prepubescent nipple that doesn't stop until

a hill grew, pale as magnolias, a coconut milk
rocket, glistening, vibrating, shoving up past
sand and quartz, past new grass, an explorer. She's
on her way, hurtling and throbbing thru space,

Explorer, Discoverer, Challenger -- all fire
tearing past gravity, weightless without having
to diet, at one with this engine in her thighs,
this penis she is, past the reddish tinge of the

Sahara, sapphire water over the Crimea, the dark
brown Himalayas -- for once having something
that will obey commands, take her where she
won't come back from as she was

Music by Christopher Aitken
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