The Recital
An intimate collection of Madame's poetry, prose, satire and spoken word—written to be read, heard and performed.
The air between us
Oh I smell it, his envy.
Putrid and sharp.
Though this he'd deny.
A dirty dull yellow, sticky.
It wept from his pores.
As he gracefully opened the door,
a glare of contempt flashed across his eyes,
for the woman he proudly proclaims he adores.
"Man" child
Slave rewards Madame lavishly
to be humiliated creatively.
Slave, bewildered by ego,
by lust and self-aggrandizement,
will wriggle and writhe
as Madame's cane gives chastisement.
To spare the rod
is to spoil the man-child.
Oh, settle down, old chap—
that's putting it mild.
What a Ruse
A cock cage dear reader, is a beautiful thing. Madame finds it very attractive, much more attractive than an unsecured package.
It gives the cock form and structure, containment. 'Tis really all a man need wear, in my opinion.
The delusion of the dis-eased man is that it thinks the feminine enjoys gazing upon its sack and cock loosely hanging, swinging like a drunken, severely limbless octopus, walking around like a brain-dead imbecile, led by this drunken creature.
No discipline, no focus, just a fucking dribbling mess.
And THIS is the current leadership of this world.
No matter how expensive its suit, how polished the haircut, how shiny the shoes, when stripped back to the bare bones, it was only a ruse.
