January made any movement feel extraneous, as if something nudged to
haunting irresponse.
Sing Sing Prison was beyond all that, but
never more there--yet not even its
manifestation would have it.
The Mahicannituk (Hudson River)
followed the land two ways--to conceive
more than water.
Ruth Snyder saw that as Sing Sing walled
alive--smothered her prefume, crouched
over lights & coughed out iron.
Queens was a place, this was not--food ate her, water drank her.
A place to make out surroundings that
don't want to be seen, that are put forth
just for deprivation.
"Ruthless Ruth" appealed to her thin frame, dropped it like a hankerchief on
the cold floor.
Almost convincing herself that one's true
nature is unpunishable--as she stood up
again.
"Old Sparky" (name for the electric chair) was seated across from an indefinite coming--its unapproachable presence growing into its features.
Ruth was roaring with the twenties as her lover tried to go thru her--while her
husband wagged his tail somewhere.
So Ruth enlightened his sexless naivety,
with a couple of cold puddles outside of a
long lay.
Her lover (Judd Gray) smacking back his suspenders in answer to a Who Done It.
Their body-exploring-finallys & whispering hot sophications--saw a door
kick open to the rest of the world.
A lot came on in, Ruth needed luxuriating, to writhe on high-end furniture.
See again: "Old Sparky", now it's all about
"Old Sparky"--it was never not about
"Old Sparky".
Led by the hand to a modern-day witch burning, of course there was an audience--they arrived in cathartically shaped veils.
A latched heap, held by safety--holding their peace.
Figuring into the law, & willing to watch
a subcutaneous thunderstorm.
Especially Tom Howard of the New York Daily News, who had a camera strapped to his ankle--expressly told it was for:
Private Eyes Only.
His Life's Work was strapped to his ankle--as The Mahicannituk's current flowed.
He lifted up his trouser cuff & squeezed
the shutter buld, then ungripped it.
The room met the designated height of the switch as it was flipped, its current
flowed.
Ruth conceived something more than electricity, as she made hairpin turns--
blowing toward unsuccessful ejection.
She cocked her head calmly as she watched herself beat leathered husks,
her scalp smoking like twigs.
The witch they came for surged upward, & was restrained as if she were reacting to Latin commands.
If she had the **** for a last meal, a menu put to taste congealed & what thirst there was ran dry.
Tom got his picture, & Ruth was blurrily
venting mid-fry on the front page of The Daily News.
Which read: "DEAD!", the first public picture of its kind.
*Ruth Snyder of Queens was executed via the electric chair, in Sing Sing Prison for murdering her husband. On Jan 12, 1928.