The Anatomical Woman Runs Away- an E-Chapbook

Inspired by the Anatomical Venus at the Semmelweiss Wax Museum in Hungary, a wax figure of a half-asleep young woman whose torso is open to expose the organs inside.

 

1

The anatomical women sit on a metal bench and sink into the cogs. Machines pull them apart like taffy. The women revolve until their cells become part of the apparatus. The anatomical women are now robotic females. They open their chest cavities to reveal the lubricated metal workings within. The machines artificially inseminate themselves. Now that there is a working womb made of skin, the bodies can sprout themselves. The

 

anatomical women grunt while giving birth but feel nothing. The children have metal skulls. They crawl around and try to suckle the women's breasts. Mammary glands do not translate into robotics. The infant stomachs sag. They drink air and oil but do not put on any weight.

 

2

A tarantula crawls on the woman's nether regions. Its legs tickle her flesh. She strokes the hairy back as it steps near her labia. You are a pretty woman, the arachnid murmurs. The woman's buttocks are very fat. The spider gets lost inside her pelvis. He finds a small man sitting near the urethra tube. Where did you come from, the man asks. Outside, the spider says. They stare at one another until the spider jumps onto the man's face. He eats the eyes and digests slowly. The woman presses her hands against her belly. She listens to the squishing sounds near her chest.

 

3

A woman is covered in spider eyes. The eyes blink individually. The woman sees everything. The view into her genitals is very dark. She holds a flashlight between her thighs to see up the walls. Even worse is the horizon of her mouth. Her throat stretches on forever. Looking down, she sees several bloated surgical gloves moving around. I do not approve of this used feeling, the woman says. She gnaws on her lips and goes blind beneath her nose. The undersides of her feet are always kept in the darkness. Those eyes see everything in shades of blinding white mixed with gray. Flareups cause the entirety of her sight to become spotted with flashing colors.

 

4

There are many hands groping things. The woman lies on her recliner and allows gray fingers to molest her spine. It is doctor's orders. He says a woman should be violated on a daily basis. All the better to keep her subdued. The men feed the woman a plastic bag filled with fingers. Nails catch in the back of her throat. She chokes the crescents down. They taste so bitter, she says. The men strap her to a metal table. They peel the outer layers of her wax surface off. Look at all these workings, the men say. They pluck the ligaments and veins until the woman becomes a heap of running color.

 

5

Doctors dip the women into a vat of acid. They do not bother with torch flames. They want to watch the women disintegrate fully. The young boys stand just away from the fluid. They catch the pieces in fishing nets. Each piece turns into its own woman. The females sit in the boys' hands and whimper. The boys smell bad. The women take turns screaming. They spit up acid onto the thumbs. The boys' hands burn. The women jump down. They throw themselves into the acid bath and swim.

 

6

The woman withers and becomes a skeleton. Men come and place her in a Victorian style dress. They bind her corset until her ribs crack. You must suffer for beauty, they say, lacing the back. I cannot take a breath, she gasps. Doctors powder her face gray. Dust sticks into their teeth. The women cough loudly. The men stick a baby into the stiffly crossed arms. What do I need this for, she asks. It is to suckle at your breast, the men say. The child paws at the fleshless chest. It goes to drink but only gets a bit of bone.

 

7

Maybe a woman lives in a lighthouse. She climbs the steep steps every day and leaps off the railing. The lights watch her drown. Rocks sing to her. Why do you jump, the rough edges ask. She leaps back up the wall. The lighthouse catches her. She rests on her back and lets spiders climb in and out of her mouth. The woman picks at her stomach. She pulls out buoys and ropes. Anchors hold her spleen down. The woman chews on old sand. She turns and kisses the ancient keeper.

 

8

Physiological models languish in the center of a courtyard. Old women lick their facial boils. Several skeletons reveal their nude pubic bones. The anatomical women do not react to anything. They let dirty surgical gloves taint their gleaming wax. It is hard for the sculpted models to drink. Several hyena- headed men hold champagne glasses to their barely parted lips. The women sip and dribble alcohol onto their sloping breasts. How terrible, the dogs say. They drop the glasses so that the stems shatter. The wax women rolls off their beds. They rest on the glass. When it cuts through their flesh, the women gasp loudly and ooze.

 

9

There is something about the woman's pelvis. A man stares at the labia folds. He pokes the creases. The flesh moves around his nails. I am afraid of this, he says but the woman does not answer. The man stares at the thick thatch of hair. It resembles a spider's stretching legs. He expects to pull the mound apart and find poisonous fangs. You should get closer, the woman says. She holds him by the neck. He struggles three times before resting his nose against the slit. The woman places her legs on his shoulders. He breathes slowly and the more his lungs expand, the more flesh he swallows.

 

10

A woman assumes the man's position. She rests between his legs and thrusts her pubic bone out. The man gasps. He wraps his legs around her waist. She heaves herself against his hardness. The longer they make love, the paler he becomes. His hands slip into her wax thighs. He digs into the pliable flesh and leaves imprints of his hands. The woman leans down. She slams her hips against his. I am not a succubus, she says. She climaxes with her hands pushed down against a hemmed wound covering the entirety of her stomach. The man attempts an orgasmic shudder and the woman shoves him into the space not secured by tight black stitches.