On a special night,
your vocal cords held tight
by my steady thumbs.
White to pink
pink to blood red roses
with cruel black spider stems.

Fair princess pinned
beneath my weight,
god-snap rage
flickering flame
darkness regained.

A restless hateful kiss.
Thorn adorned displeasure.
My love is
your shredded flesh.
Love me like you should,
beauty filled morbid beast.

With honey
from the dragon’s skull
I cover your nudity.
Let’s attend to death’s
cruel whisper
in the valley of Sheol.

My hot leg shakes
tramp dog mud whiskers.
Moist cardboard box
houses all my barks.

The darkness of night
is much too dark;
disease, fleas and despair
like lonely rain under
street light with broken lamp.
Growling demons prowl
with death-eaten distorted
leprosy masks, and a red eye
to kill.

I consumed my street.
In the gutter
stars got caught in my throat.
My fur, like a prostitute’s cunt
stinks of strong urine.
I lay down and I won’t
get up to run,
or shit,
or smoke.

Out here the dumpster
claims the soulless.
Torn apart unnaturally-
pierce, shred, peace.

It is now apparent
that the fears
that stalk onward
and the tears
that chop and choke
each night
are cast upon
a helpless prey.

Nor hero, nor victim,
but circumstance!
And the slow progression
of inadequate proposals.

On the killer’s blade
I’m perched as humble –
as erotic, youthful beast.
As nude as the fibers of
my being exposed before God.

What have you done
my sweet fulfillment?
I am trampled to death
and here at my masters feet
I can do nothing but sleep.

I sat on God’s face
and he did not move.
My shit seeped
into His mouth
and it bit like a sharp
silver fork under the tongue.
Dire seasoned saliva.

His eyelashes like
golden kings.
A thousand horses kill
as one out
from His nostrils.

Naked I am a gnat
on the white of His eye.
These demons are thoughts
that are hidden and
pull from below
with sweaty
child-like hands.

If I could forget
as far back as life began
where God was God
Heaven was nowhere
and there was nothing
undone.

Romantic arson,
a thousand lovers burning
to the blooming flowers
of my accelerant:
amoral, senseless rage.

Because I do not
or will not consider
another vice
for your confessional.

Come shed indifference.
Thumb the holy water font.
Theorize inconclusive evidence
of life apart from love.

Crawl into
the vacant church
which is my heart.
Idolize Me.

Fullness ‘neath a clear blue sky
Fullness in the stark sunshine
Fullness lost in autumn night
My heart is full of Your delights.

Aether sings the fullest song.
Its lungs exhale the stars along
their course of fire, ice, or storm
proclaiming life as gift of Love.

Beauty perfect, Beauty true,
paint my soul in golden hue,
string my heart, a song to sing
the fullness of a perfect hymn.

Grace of which to God belongs
You can also sing a song.
In the heart of man awaken
sounds to guide our soul to heaven.

I miss the broken glass
opening my anxious flesh;
the bite and burn of the blade.
A constant, certain fear evolving …
the marriage of sex and darkness.

I peel away
the withered.
pink and moist
beneath glowing eyes.
The night settles.

God cannot speak
to me any longer.
I am not afraid now,
(but I tremble in the grave.)
I cannot ask for
what I will destroy.

I beg you to erase my life
because I can’t seem to
suffer enough
or love a little.

When I see her face
I don’t get an erection.
But something in my gut
yearns to be held by her.

If only I could spend my life
understanding her face.
In time I would
uncover God.

Instead I am afraid
and I do get an erection.
I smear her lips with brine
smudge dark honey
under her eyes.

How do I orchestrate murder?
accompany rape with a melody?
When the sun comes
she is marked.

Dishonorable disaster.
Underwater moon knows
but does not speak of doom.
Shed your clothes
and come with me child.
Come down here with me.

Cannot inhale
where she dwells.
Dead sludge mouth
grows inside. All swells
and long swallows kills
me to the ocean floor.

The end of depths;
she still controls there.
My stretched regrets
God does ignore
and I swell more.

Her all can devour
in many ways
this walking corpse.
I close my eyes
and eat myself.

I see the glaciers in the sky
from my deathbed on the ground.
If the sunrise is a smile
I’d give my heart to see it.

A night without it’s stars
comfort those who fear it.
And I am nothing more than smoke
rising from the clearing.

The nature of my wrath
is as strong as the pain I feed it.
And I’m never far from death
because I’m in love with it.

If tomorrow you are gone
I will take my gifts to heaven
and plead to see your face
through the clouds of my unknowing.

Take off your clothes
so I can see what I can bite,
because I chew what I can bite
and I swallow what I chew.

Stay away from me
because I know
how to destroy us,
and in the end
I will enjoy it.

There is nothing in my heart
except the hunger of the damned,
the desolation of the few,
grinding and gnashing of teeth

And I pick up the pieces
and drop them again.
And the pieces don’t fit
and the pain comes again.

And I pick up the pieces
and drop them again.
And the pieces don’t fit
and the pain comes again.

And I pick up the pieces
and drop them again.
And the pieces don’t fit
and the pain comes again.

And darkness closes in
as the sun goes away.
And the cycle of loathing
destroys me again.

How could I forget
the darkness I embrace?
Those encounters live
forever in my heart.

I am engulfed by nothing;
it’s a nameless thing.

Don’t want this life.
I killed my God.
Certain of pain.
Love wants to destroy me.
If we die, nothing
ever matters.

Like a tree or the grass,
less capable,
more suitable.
Nothing compares
to time and space,
aether or flesh.

Caught up in bereavement
we seduced each other.
You took a part of me with you.
Now let me brood.

Drain the semen
then the blood.
An epty shell
devoid of
anything
you can offer
to this
dead-end game.

We choose the poison
that will rape
our beauty
second
by
second,
drip
by
drip.

... until we growl away, taken further into the darkness.

The white dawn
flares red at it's roots.
And each eye towards the sun
sets fire to the heart.

Digesting sparks.
Mud with broken glass.
Toys stolen from children.
My lover's heart
chewed into bits.
Blood and bile
on my lips.

My love is not docile.
My fury is pure.
In the wake of our passion
we brace to endure.

Luey, where are you going?
I see you've packed your things:
cigarettes, cologne, and cough drops.
A razor and romantic songs.

Coming down the stairs,
clean-shaven mug, and gel in hair.
You ask dad to take you
to the airport where you meet Drew,
organize, and head out towards the sky.

To see your girl
and she, her guy.
And in the kitchen Drew eats pie,
so much that he must
conjure up a lie.

Luey, I think about you
twice a week
and write this poem
so you may see
the time we spend
means more to me
than juicy burgers
with melted cheese.

I cannot end without saying
that lately you have been displaying
subtle love that's just as deep
as any other.

I love you,
my brother.

Crying suicidal tears
upon an ivory sink.
Smashing the mirror with my fist,
shattering my image.
The black blood that
boils within my heart.
This is to be forsaken by my Lord.

Helpless, naked in the storm
feeding on maggots and mud.
Masturbating with the horses in their stalls.
This is to be forsaken by my Lord.

To sleep with the enemy every night.
To facilitate his talons entry to my soul.
To envy the deceased.
This is to be forsaken by my Lord.

I am the mother.
I am the root of sin.
Endless cycle of decay.
Putrid anti-beauty horror.

Found, never forgotten.
Shame into contrition.
Fear into trust.
Kept, acknowledged and forgiven.

This is to be known by my Lord.

Let me map the constellations
in your soul.
And inhale the dark abyss
that deftly wounds.

To leave my princess white as snow.
Mighty wings to soar,
above and beyond
heaven's door.

Her body as unforgiving fire
pulls my heart upon her altar.
Makes me promise I can suffer
the ecstasy of wounded lovers.

In her womb I sympathize
with angels that have learned to fly.
But I have cut my wings away
to lost within her beauty stay.

A white ceramic bowl
holds grapes and apples.
A dusty bag of potatoes
resting in the corner.

Raspberries on the bathroom floor
crushed by tiny feet.
Two dark brown eye lashes
on the toilet seat.

White powder on my handgun.
Smoke and ashes under the sheets.
Her corpse lay in the kitchen.
Her dry, open eyes
like small white peaches.

If blood were white
I wouldn't worry.
If fruits were murdered,
or never grown.

If my mouth had never tasted
the earth's bounty.
Then I would be moral.
Then I would be merry.

The center
hardens with time,
until broken,
forced apart
or forged
into something new.

You can pierce
the crying child
with your sharp
fingernails.
Scratch the face away
until there’s
innocent blood
underneath your
fingernails.

Without a face
there is no innocence,
without remorse
we burn the wings.

Naked torso
sprouts
dead vegetables,
buried remains
wilt and decay.

She follows
the river
to the bleeding mouth,
mumbles a prayer
under the bridge.