food for crows

gasping, gaping. Metastasis. It glows in the corner as a fire fly’s mouth. Deep molasses of a moonless Southern night. It has a need of its own. There is a name on the door but no one knows who it belongs to anymore. That seed was scattered and crop failed. Erasure, in gilded gloaming. The craft of wetwork still decorates some of old pine floor. l’satan lo. Obstruction, judgement. The weather vane is rusted in a westerly position. Adverse to meaning, this pain is still subjective. There was never a time in this place where the low dogs didn’t whine. … Continue reading food for crows

forms

in the zone a face without place or form nails to grindstone tooth for tooth ashes to ashes blessed be blasphemies kissed upon night’s curtain curtailed by wing of dove in truth, there is never peace only truce, awaiting defeat thrice damned seven-fold avenged scrape foam from a pint play another hand life is demand she’s got a doomsday tan and apricot lips a toe in the sand gun in hand in the zone a place without face or form image courtesy of Pinterest Continue reading forms

we are the violent

we are the violent. Cast aside permissions like the breath of early bedroom encounters. her name would be fire if you could capture in a language, but no tongue on earth can hold the meaning. It flows like water over toes and under skin, sinking into pores as a cleansing salt; charcoal scrub both burns and purifies. You find us in quiet hours when you’re alone and no one is around, all those secret fetishes that come unbound. We daze new wave, shoegaze, everything we see we want to feed on. the itching that all need scratches, Destiny and me … Continue reading we are the violent

Check, mate

we have the numbers at night. darker than dark, i think. little monsters on the brink of a hellion cataclysm. someone will get hurt and we will leave them broken in the dirt. it happens and it’s hard but our way is the one that sharpens sticks, no? we were there when Babylon fell, hands held the knives’ in Caesar’s back. Started the 100 Years’ war with set of tinder and a little heresy. Threw the first gas grenade in the Rhine. we killed Kennedy and Marilyn. The lean side of mean. demons of men, we are the ones who … Continue reading Check, mate

Arithmetic

Pop goes your weasel in mellifluous cloud of unknown gasses carotid arteries of the woe-begones I can no longer think with a hole in my head Incontinent, as time shits the slow minutes that weep through the barrier of ill intentions and seep out like plasma onto the subsurface of our minutiae retrovirus of pandemic spreading fingers inside a body to enrapture and assimilate for the survival of the whos and whats and the gun-metal wants of the wardog rabid malcontent I have witnessed biting his fleas in my fenced back yard electric eyes don’t blink and never shed tears … Continue reading Arithmetic