Today I killed
the last piece
of love
inside me.

I fed it poison
and watched it
convulse and die
as the cicadas rotated
shifts in my ears.

Yesterday a blind woman
touched my face
as I carried her through
the desert to
the Holy Lake in the mountains.
She touched my face
and asked me to put her down;
she no longer wanted my help
because she knew my
nothing was greater than hers.

Tonight I drink the shadows
of your name, heavy with
time.

Late, thick with desire
Your voice, skin, smells, all absent.
Crawling in my mind.

Day blooms; morning fog
Dreams die, fading to shadows
Cold nights, forgotten.

Crawl to me, darling.
Elbows and knees, hardwood floors.
Sounds of submission.

Stone washed denim sky,
Tree limbs bathed in emerald,
Birds whistle, dogs bark.

In violent light,
shadows are sharp, crisp and clean.
Heavy is the night.

The salt of your skin
rests uneasily on my swollen tongue
as I ******* like your life
depended on it.

How many times have I wrenched
the impossible from the ether
and left you slick and aching,
bereft of any intelligible thought
save for the feeling of having
been entirely filled and
completely consumed
in the same
endless moment?

One moment can change
your universe.
How long
does it take to lose an arm,
to come for the first time,
to surrender?

How long does it take to cut too deep?

I can become your
deity in the violent light
of our sanctuary
and you can take my
blood while I sleep
in your hair.

Heavy is the night
but your skin is cool
and all I want is to
die inside you.

The salt of your sins
my only meals as I
burn in the furnace
again.

I can't take my eyes
away from the edge
of our shadows
in this
violent light.

I can't take my eyes away.

Six hours behind.
Your dawn, my future, pale light.
Milk, honey, rough ***.

Don't think, because we're ******* again,
I have forgotten the lies,
the tears
the gnashing and wailing
the avoided phone calls
and vague half truths.

Half a truth is all lie.

Right now I want to cut myself,
deep.
I'd like to drop lit,
wooden kitchen matches
onto my willing abdomen
and watch
my flesh melt
away.

Something has to give.

Bind me to an iron cross
and flay my skin.
Strike my joints
with a metal rod
until I am
completely broken.

This cannot last.

I'd like to grab
hold of the flesh
under my jaw
and rip my ugly face
off of my ugly head.
I want to pound nails
into my knees,
chew on thumb tacks,
skewer my eyes
with toothpicks.

I spent an hour
scraping calloused feet
and toes when I could
have cut them off
with a pruner
and saved some time.

I'd like to do these
things, but I am
not a *******
I am no victim.
I am no martyr.
I am not so deep
in The Nothing.

I would rather
perform these acts
upon you.

Strange feelings inside.
Rotting from the inside out.
These feelings, they ****.

With a mouth full of bile,
I kiss your rotting lips.
I spew my rancid seed
on your blackened eyes
and know they will soon
be crusted shut, tainted
by my sickly venom.

I am poison.

I seep into
your wet parts and
consume all that is good and pure,
leaving nothing but **** in
your bloodstream, ***** in your lungs.

I am malignant by nature,
malevolent by choice.

And I have chosen you as next.

I'm not quite sure what did it...

It could have been watching
Mother being beaten
or knowing Father was the one giving the beatings.
It may have been
when it was my turn
for the beatings.

It may have been the first time
I experienced the futility
of existing
here and now,
there and then.

It could have been
the first time I felt an
irrational fear of
climbing under the porch
with all the spiders and dark places,
or the subsequent shame imposed on me
because my little sister was
the one who
saved the stuck kitten.

It might have been the time
I rammed that same sister's head
into the side of the stove
and then threatened retaliation
if she told on me.

It may have been
thinking as a child
I was destined for
mediocrity, even though
I knew I was
born
to be great...

II.
Knee deep in thick muck,
******* and fuckery,
we trudge on and on
and through it all....

III.
Everyone is dying.
Some, quicker than others.
I'm going to
ride this out
for a while...

IV.
Hi
Hey, you look cute

Fat. You look ******* fat poured into that stupid dress. You are not seventeen anymore lady, jesus!*
...

V.
I can hear you breathing while doing yoga;
a slow inhale, pause, controlled exhale.
Your body is a....

VI.
Another ten hour shift
with the crew of ******* *******.
If I wasn't the boss
I'd have cracked some
****** heads
wide open
by now.
These ******* don't
know ****...

VII.
My plants need watering, wilting next to grandmas paintings...

VIII.
So, you think you know me...

VIIII.
Spare parts.
Lots of folks out
there made from spare parts.
Pieces that almost fit.

My knees were laying
around out back somewhere;
they were beaten into place.
They got most of the dimensions
right but the joints are tight...

X.
It takes two weeks for your kisses to reach me,
and two seconds for my blood to fill the empty spaces...

XI.
Wait...just wait. Don't go.
I was only kidding. ****...

XII.
Light. Bouncing all over the place.
Light.
Reflected into you...

XIII.
These giant guardians on the boulevard,
My friends, these tremendous sycamores, have been keeping watch my entire life.
They tried warning me...

XIV.
Two years later and your taste is gone but your smells still linger in the dark folds of memory...

XV.
This is going to be offensive to most.
Inappropriate? Some might say.
I wouldn't...

XVI.
These so called poems from
these so called poets about
cutting yourself and suicide really
can wear a guy out.
My tendency towards empathy and
compassion, tested daily, wears incredibly thin.
I've been there, not my thing, this cutting.
I'd rather burn flesh.
We've all got our thing right?
Except self harm isn't my thing.
Not a thing I do,
just a thing I did.
I wonder if these tortured
souls make it through the
next hour after reading
one after another cry for help.
I wonder if some do it just
for shock value, some just to goad
their creators.
I wonder if I am reading a poem or a
suicide letter.
It's unnerving.
I'm all for suicide; I suggest everyone try it
at least once.

Just quit with the incessant
*******...

XVII.
Cut my throat and leave me to the jackals for
I would rather drown in desert sand
than submit to the will of anyone
I do not
trust...

XVIII.
****** clamps, lead weights.
Paddles, restraints...

XVIIII.
I sat alone,
from nowhere a warm, blue light surrounded me.

**.
Balancing these monkeys on my back with the demons in my mind and...

21.
I smell ******* a mile away *******,
and you stink.
I see you shuckin' and jivin',
be-boppin' around like you are some kind of
badass...

22.
And now there are no flowers on the table and no long, dark hairs on my pillow...

Centered and exposed,
Vulnerable offering.
Strength in surrender.

In the small hours,
alone with my thoughts of you,
I feel you touching me.

I feel your warm skin softly nestle
next to mine
as Nox wraps us in
her dark embrace.

Breathing as one,
we silently explore
the landscape of us.

There are no words for this learning.

I said her name,
and then she came.
The end.

She is my Goddess
I, her Divine Masculine
A sacred union

With a dry mouth and bound feet,
I ponder your undoing.
Seeing you
reduced to a quivering mass
of gellied flesh
is going to make me feel quite satisfied.


Quite satisfied indeed.

I won't be worried about who is right or wrong.
I won't be thinking of egos and consequences.

My mind is made up
and some beatings are in order.

I will have one goal and that
is to inflict pain and suffering
on you and your entire family.

Every last stinking one of you fat stupid *****.

You see, you think you know me, and you are correct. You do. You know me better than most.
You don't know this part.
You have never seen what I am capable of,
what I have done.
  
You know not the lengths of great
personal sacrifice I will endure
just to see you bleed,
*******.

I will stew
and brood
and contemplate
and daydream about
your mouth caving
under my fists.

*****.

I'm going to take
what little manhood
you have left
and completely destroy
everything left to do with it.

Nothing can save you,
my mind is made up.
You have no hope.
I don't have to wonder
if I will see you,
I will.
Be ready to bleed.
My mind is made up.
Nothing can save you.

Brushing long gray fur
Heavy boy, your purr soothes me
Dearest feline friend

Luna waxes, wanes.
Blood. Water. Our passions tide.
Gravity's death grip.

Trite melodrama-
These theatrics, tiresome.
Just leave, little girl.

Heavy limbs, old roots.
Seasonal magnificence.
Mighty Sycamore.

You can get it right, at 4 a.m.,
if you listen to the birds waking up.

My heavy lungs remember your amber
as my neck revolts in agony.

I hurt so bad right now and all
I want to do is taste your wet.

You can get it right, at 4 a.m.,
if you listen to the birds.

With a warm glow
around my tired bones,
I feel the chemicals
slowly take effect.

It's ok with me, precious,
if you think I'm ugly.
I'll love you just the same.

My hands knew your skin
before we ever touched lips
because you are missing from me.

It's ok my dear,
if we never live
I'll love you just the same.
It's the honey on your lips
that keeps me on my knees.

Here and now, alone,
My thoughts turn to you,
your pale skin
your new glasses.
Your black hair is
getting longer.
I didn't expect to find
a picture of you waiting
for me this morning,
I didn't expect to
feel this emptiness
eat me again.

I thought I was getting better.

It is only at night I truly feel alive.
When shadows are thick
and the true movers
and shakers start
their business of
cleaning up our mess.

How heavy is your shadow?

I walk alone through most
of the *******.
Every now and then someone
tags along and it's always a blast
but then they go away
or I go away
and always I end
up with me.

I loved them
and
they killed me

I dream now of crossing
time and space with
a silver haired
beauty with big
Indian eyes and
a brand new spine.

We hold each other
close and new galaxies
are born with each
touch of our tongues.

We are Now

You are wet
and
I am hard
and
one day
our shadows will touch
and
then we will know
why we were
waiting.

*Breathe, darling

These people
They do not even see me.
they are blind to me
I am not invisible
I walk by them
I see them
they don't see me
they look away
look at the floor
they look around
they look anywhere
but my eyes

which is fine
for if they did
they would see
the eyes of a madman
a lover
a father and a brother
a ***** hobo
a ragged lonely nomad
a slave
a tree climber
a ruiner
a fighter
a healer
a *****

They would see centuries upon centuries of amber and curry and garlic and sand and bones

If they dared
to step a little closer
they would smell the *** and soil of a thousand worlds
the blood
the ****
the tears
of a million little girls and boys left in my wake
lilies and lilacs and roses and daffodils would mix with
mangoes and dragons blood
and sweaty lust.

I am Love and I walk among you.

Chakras and serpents
Surrendering to Goddess
This love, eternal

Listen buttercup,
This is just the way it is.
Now do what I said.

It's these small hours; these slow and tired ones,
thick,
heavy with memories,
that can weigh a man down.

I miss you

Time creeps by.

This moment,
this Now,
I can taste your smells.
Rose oil,
amber,
coffee and fresh sheets.

Skin

It's these small hours,
these quiet hours.

Hard heat, swollen lips
Bound ******* blooming in the dark
Where is my sugar?

Sweet woman,
in your mountain's embrace
I see you cry alone.
I long to be at your bedside
but my ways are treacherous,
and my time is short.

I give you as much as I have
to offer.

Precious girl,
I feel the heat of your devotion
through the miles.
I long to be between your thighs,

but my skin is cold
and my time is short.

Here and now,
deep in nights cool arms,
I close my eyes
and see you.
I see a grey day blooming languid,
the only sound, your steady, sleeping breath.
This space between us, nothing.
This bond of ours, timeless.
My lips burn through the dying night, seeking the pale dawn of your neck.

Breathe deep and feel me now.

I smell *** everywhere I go.
In the air,
On cafe counters,
At bus stops and on sidewalks.

I taste it in your coy smiles
and backward glances
while he wasn't looking.
Sand and salty skin,
lips with no teeth behind them.
Blood rushes and swollen parts.

I know I will ruin you
from the inside out.
This is how cancer feels.
Love isn't always soft as sighs,
slow and careful cobweb touches.
Sometimes it's mindfucks,
riding crops and hematoma.
Ask napolean about the pyramids
and you will hear the
words of a true ******.

These words, just cockroach
legs swarming around the rotting
chicken bones underneath
your stained mattress,
ancient and ugly,
feeding,
defiling,
consuming.

This now we are sharing,
my now of writing,
your now of reading,
are they the same?



Another day alone
as I decay into
a great big
pile
of nothing
and
somewhere
out there
is a ****
that will
finally
make me
happy.

Skin and bone, bricks, fists.
Ignorance begets violence.
Afternoon beatings.

Cold, dark night. Birdsong.
Shattering silent torture.
Thank you, feathered friend.

These rooms are getting smaller
without you.
These tired bones ache in
your absence.

You are missing, from me

It's almost five a.m. and
I'm staring at the walls again,
thinking of all the women
and their parts.
Their missing parts and
the chunks they ripped
from me.

Some took more than I could give
and knowing this didn't make
the bleeding any easier.
Pushing boundaries becomes a bore;
I know how far I will go.

I saw the weathered metal chairs
on your porch, the same kind my grandmother had in her back yard,
as I drove near your house today.

I remembered our brief kiss, on those chairs. The electric shudder rippling through my entire being as your lips parted and for one sweet, fleeting moment, I felt loved.

It's five a.m. now and I'll die again today,
without you.

Sleeping evades me
This ordeal, my ringing ears
Then becomes now. ****.

Dusk, bugs herald Night.
Here, you are missing from me.
Now, your taste is gone.