chaos and old night walk into a bar
Chaos and Old Night walk into a bar,
Old Night orders a Tom Collins,
Chaos, a Jack and Soda.
Old Night says, “I bet I can pick up that coy Sophia over there.”
When he approached, however, the wizened young woman
Heard disorder’s roar and smelled the annihilation
Of her frail consciousness on Old Night’s breath—
Rejection was quick and unkind.
But the ragged man had his revenge,
The fear he instigated caused his object’s mental demise.
Indeed, Old Night returned to his stool and claimed success.
“How so?” demanded Chaos.
“If we consider the ultimate orgasm, as so many do,
The equivalent of psychological death,” Old Night proclaimed,
“Well, then I didn’t even have to touch her to possess her.”
Chaos replied, “I can top that,”
Pointing to the raven-haired Lilith wannabe
Parked by the jukebox, nursing a Bloody Mary.
Chaos strode up confidently.
The woman’s name was Agatha and
She didn’t even notice Chaos was there.
It just seemed like another night out to her,
As the sidereal maelstrom of his titanic presence
Seemed to blend perfectly with the entertainment environment.
It might be said, however, she repressed a touch of existential anxiety,
Precisely the effect Chaos was after.
He returned to his barstool and also claimed victory.
“How so?” inquired Old Night.
“Because I only need to instill confusion, doubt.
By so doing I conquer the most fecund life;
They give it up to me, ego and everything else
And know pleasure thereby for the very first time.”
Carl Watson is a fiction writer and poet living in NYC. His published works include Backwards the Drowned Go Dreaming, The Hotel of Irrevocable Acts, Beneath the Empire of the Birds, Psychosomatic Life and Astral Botanica.