just the usual business of things.

The Confessional was a red wooden booth with a television and a stack of pornographic movies. For 10 dollars you could go into the confessional for 30 minutes and watch a portion of any film. At the end of the thirty minutes a red siren on top of the confessional would sound and the door would unlock.

At first the owner did not think The Confessional was worth installing. He said people would much rather purchase a movie and watch it at home. But the confessional wasn't for people who had that luxury. The booth drew in heards of repressed homosexuals, cheating businessmen, sex addicts, priests, nuns and anyone else whose daily life had to otherwise be void of such carnal pleasures. You could usually tell a customer who wanted to use the booth, they always came in the same awkward way, looking around as if someone was watching them and making sure the door closed all the way behind them. Then they would pretend to look at the toys and videos for awhile, until making their way nervously to the counter and presenting the 10 dollars. I'd show them to the booth and let them in. I'd explain they had 30 minutes and at the end the siren would sound and the door would open.

Sometimes I'd have to drag people out of the booth. Some of them were practically licking the television screen when I went in and others were still going at it like a crazed fiend, completely unaffected by my presence with a glazed look in their eye.

Other times I'd have to stop people trying to steal the videos, some people shot their mess all over the place and didn't bother to clean any of it up. Other times people would leave strange things in there, once I even found some money. I suspected it just fell out of the persons pocket. Other times I found food, cigarettes and even sex toys.

oil

The oil as it uncoils, into shades of milk and grey.
The oil as it uncoils, into hatred and dismay.
The oil as it uncoils into beauty, lust and life.
The oil as it uncoils from the palette, onto knife.
The oil as it traces, under every curve and every dive,
to mark a history of a being and portray its very life.
The oil as it uncoils into a somber and evening song,
the oil as it uncoils for every deed done wrong.
The oil as it uncoils, for the sirens deathly song.
the oil as it uncoils for man and for the bird,
the oil as it uncoils onto a stumbling yet charging heard.
The oil as it uncoils into sex and death and light, the oil
as it uncoils into vex and hate and might. The oil as it
uncoils into a den of earthly sin, the rousing of your spirit
and the tainting of your kin? The oil as it uncoils into a sour,
wispy sound. The oil as it uncoils from the caverns of your mouth.
-bnf 2007.