i
haunting memories ooze from my pores
condensing in the heavy atmosphere.
wave after wave of ethereal static
flashes behind my eyes
pulling me above the serene rot
& the
percussive
drumming of the downpour outside.
spellbound in a dizzy trance
i stare into the reflective looking glass
waiting for the stranger
in the mirror to blink
first.
ii
sitting in a creaky rocking chair
watching black-&-white russian films
on a bulky, box, console television.
the fork pronged, bunny-ear antenna
and massive
protruding knobs and buttons
distract me, bathing in the salt-&-pepper static.
i peer to the left. on the rusted windowsill on the other side,
four empty glass bottles stand:
two green, two
clear - filling up
with the buckets of pouring rain. outside,
horses graze in the flooded marsh -
their soaked manes
falling flat against heavy necks
lasso tied, with a noose fixed to fence posts.
I pity yet envy their nylon-chained fate.
in the fireplace
embers of a coal fire flicker. ashy smoke
dances with the dust
suspended in the grey light
cast by the CRT TV screen. an aggressive glow, haunting.
iii
braving eden on margate street
reading...
writing...
painting...
moving and existing
through tinted layers.
six shillings a week for the meek, begging
to eat anointed fruit & man-made vegetables. swept up
in a tornado of unaccustomed genius
i sit singing. my blues bleeding into latin grooves
moving me through the dissonance
of frowning echoes.
iv
[front page]
crisis after crisis,
screams the black ink.
**** it.
another hundred-and-eighty dead.
bombed for attending school -
but the other news said brown girls
don't even get to choose.
someone's lying,
or, more likely,
I've lost my mind.
> 2nd page
I don't know who is worse....
Noem, or Noam ¿¿¿
Mar 11
Mar 11, 2026 at 7:58 PM UTC
beads of sweat
trickle down the nook of her neck
glistening on soft curves of static skin
hot with electric pulse under gliding fingertips.
beads of pearls
wrapped around her wrists
glimmer in dancing reflections
from burning flickers of candlelight.
beads of wax
drip down her arched spine
glinting as quivering hips sway
writhing in the gentle shock of pleasurable pain.
***
diving into trenches of pleasure
in her intoxicating salty skin
where sweet treasure lies
confined inside the pouting shell
glowing through refracted moonlight.
my lips trace from her navel
sailing along hipbone silky swell
as pointing toes curl
& waves reach breaking peak
under firm strokes
to the nocturne's crescendo.
Mar 10
Mar 10, 2026 at 2:59 PM UTC
Contemplating ************
I lie on my crookedly back
on a lumpy mattress
with curves in all the wrong places,
studying the ceiling’s hairline fractures
as though they were maps
(anywhere, but here)
speed bump city
crawling with untarred roads
leading nowhere, anyway.
hopelessness fills the spaces in between
alleys fermenting in their own neglect,
and cemeteries meet parks, overlapping
seeded with broken glass
where children once rehearsed futures.
junkie-slop spray-painted bridges
slump,
over lifeless, macroplastic
polluted rivers
which carry industrial excrement
bubbling, past jetty beams
surrendering to rot.
The city decomposes all around me,
above me, below my feet and yet
Worst of all,
death lives within me.
A cigarette hangs from my mouth
its ember a minor sunrise.
small things are big in a world of defeat...
my mind dances
with every deep inhalation,
as sparks perform their brief ballet
then vanish as if rehearsed.
Sirens stitch the distance.
Dogs growl at the invisible danger
lurking at every corner in this town.
Bins rattle like an embodiment of the anxious conscience.
Somewhere, an ambulance [tragically]
edits and prolongs a life.
Disharmony harbors inside these walls
all the same,
acting as conductor to the choir of braintot vices and the ever persistent
peace disruptor clock
(they never stop)
tick,
tock
tick,
tock...
small metronomes
with a destructive appetite.
My mindmaps catalogue the abandoned districts
of my own interior:
bridges never crossed,
letters unsent,
texts ghosted,
ambitions weathered down
to bottom of the can, faded graffiti.
Desire does not announce itself
with trumpets.
It arrives like municipal decay -
quiet,
inevitable,
functional.
inconveniently,
the ceiling does not answer.
the night does not intervene.
the city continues its indifferent pulse.
There are roads one repairs.
There are roads one avoids.
and there are roads
that circle back
around the neck, and back
to the body.
in an overflowing ashtray
i extinguish the cigarette.
the dancing is done.
and the all consuming room waits,
closing in.
Hmm.
I should **********
Feb 23
Feb 23, 2026 at 7:15 PM UTC
lyrics on the metaphysics of lust
let me kiss you
below the depths
touched by simmering rays
crashing like waves onto your bronzing skin
on a sunny day
may my ravenous fangs
sink into the nape of your neck
holding back the pining force
of seven hundred clamping bear-traps
the safety-nets
woven out of cigarette smoke
& verbose poems
written by a flickering lamp
burning midnight oil
dissolved in the unseeable depths
of those deep-sea green eyes
helicopters whirled in the pits of my stomach
when my gaze found her face
& i could stare until i was able to rig a wig
blindfolded
where each strand of hair mapped to scale
starving to death for your tomb of life
la petit mort // la petit mort
an afterlife womb
where heaven & hell mix
craving more & more
gliding fingers ski southward
tracing outlines along silky snow
i connect freckles
dot•to•dot
sketching a finger-painted masterpiece
along the canvas of your burning flesh
hallelujah
hallelujah
hips ****** up as lips meet lips
now dissolve on my tongue
shifting gears & counting speed
melting me as she breathes
earthquakes shake over quivering bodies
turning calm seas into wild stormy high tides
blood rushes into flushed cheeks
she floods my shore
like a tsunami at the break of dawn
on all fours begging for more
black on white strikes gold
while grey melts in between
tap-tap the beat of a snare drum
hitting the high hats where the dots of i
meet the passing crossroads of u̶s̶
sweet & sour sweat drips
splashing from sheets onto the floor
steam sways & burns
as the scent of burning wood
fills the empty spaces of our room
an unspoken language with signs of smoke
as flames burn through the old
& come again glimmering new
Feb 23
Feb 23, 2026 at 7:14 PM UTC