There’s nothing to watch but the fields of little girls,
            the flames licking their thighs, melting
            sweet things. 
            They’re falling
            into dirt, onto asphalt. 
            Sticky, waiting for the kind
            of boy
            who would pick candy
            up off the street and put it in his mouth. 

• “Virgin Eyes”

Thus inaugurates M.K. Chavez’ long anticipated first collection of poems. Prolific and popular throughout the small, counter-cultural press, she is an emissary from the world of live, adult entertainment, putting her square in the dialectics of artists such as Kathy Acker, Danielle Willis (an old school Zeitgeist author) and, to some extent, Karen Finley. 

Chavez unravels a world where sensual transcendence copulates with no strings sexual capitalism.  No apologies, period. Just because the characters presented in her book are alienated and in their desires and kinks, this doesn’t make them victims: 

                  “…Let your devil dance.
                  Look at yourself in the mirror.
                  Let them be grateful. Spend the money.
                  Stay steady, let go
                  but don’t get too high
                  have something that will bring you back,
                  stay alive.
                  Don’t fall asleep sister, you might get burned.” 

• Excerpted from “Sister”

In the world of working class strippers and lap dancers one can’t say the risks aren’t known, but neither can one say the rewards are entirely empty: 
 

                  “…She turns to me, smiles and asks
                  if I want anything else,
                  I tip my glass and say yes.
                  There’s always something else
                  that I need when I’m in a bar.
                  Here at Charlie’s, I’m thinking
                  that I might have it all
                  by the end of the night.” 

• Excerpted from “Check Point Charlie’s, New Orleans”

Naturally, there is a large emotional cost to be paid for such a brutal politics of body and commerce that tries to remain free of the fetters of bullshit: 

                  “…I’ve noticed 
                  the pain that words cause you.
                  ‘Hold me.’ You said.
                  ‘Swallow me whole.’ You said.
                  I said ‘Yes.’ 
                  I reached for you
                  and you ran.
                  Mouth and fingers on fire.” 

• Excerpted from “Combustion”

“Virgin Eyes” holds many of these very quick, precious and heartbreaking moments that sometimes pass by so quickly, one has to re-read the short piece to catch what was missed. While Chavez is not the first to cover the turf of this content, or the first to employ this style of poem (see Niedecker, Williams, Plath) she is the first female poet I’m aware of who has applied this (pun intended) stripped down style of poetry to  seriously adult content, and it’s no wonder she’s having success in the so-called “underground.”  

In the larger artistic context, the effect of this rhetorical style is to blur the lines between erotica and porn, and therein lies the temptation of these poems…the promise of physical and sensual transcendence for a mere cover charge or a well positioned bill. 

Chavez makes no pretension to this state of affairs to serve as any kind of real salvation, but stands ready to skewer any who pass judgment on those who need to employ these types of relationships in the unrelenting capitalist state.  In the end, one only has their own wisdom and choices to live with, and the final poem of “Virgin Eyes” nails this with astounding clarity. 
 

                  Refrain from using names. 
                  It remains best not to tattoo
                  a lover’s name on your ass. 
                  and if you think 
                  for a moment 
                  that paper is any safer
                  remember how unlucky
                  we can be 
                  it will be the poem
                  that gets published
                  the poem that brings you fame. 
                  The permanence of ink
                  is a messy affair,
                  it’s best to remain
                  undedicated 
                  your ass
                  and your declarations of love. 

• Sex, Love and Writing

-Paul Corman-Roberts