Cool skin, warm night air
Tasting each others secrets
Dying seems pointless

Moldy coffee and ***** socks
fight for space among graying memories of memories as the dirge
in my head plays on.

It's like a hearing test that lasts every waking moment, this ******* ringing in my ears.

It's 3am again and death is in the air,
so close to home I feel the ancient heat
of leathery wings on my tired shoulders.

So tired

This tired body of mine,
I've really put it
through the ringer.
I've gotten some good miles
out of it.
The *******,
The car wrecks,
The *******,
The fistfights,
The beatings,
The *******,
The drugs
and the *****
and all that *****.
The mosh pits
and the miles walked
and all of those crazy
dangerous risks
all in the name of fun.

I should have died so many times

I didn't though.
I'm here.
I'm alive.
I'm still giving it
right back
to the *******
and getting all
the *** I can,
while I can.

Your God wants me to be happy

So I took the drugs
and the punches.
I walked for miles
and sat on the beaches
and woke up in holding cells
and found out what it
means to truly love
and felt what it's
like to die from
the inside out.

I've been at one with every
molecule in the universe
that ever has been
and will be.
I've seen the spirits lights
while the first ones
sang and drummed as I
wept in the dark.

I've felt shame
and fear
and loss of hope;
hunger pangs
mingled with glorious
hallucinations.

Life is but a dream

Really though,
dearest,
none of that matters
when I'm alone
at 3 am.

Thick clouds, heavy greys.
Birds hush as lightning gives birth;
Tornado alley.

You can get it wrong, at 1 a.m.
If you listen to the whispers
of the blue smoke.

Intentional bruises sneak in between the thunder and we build our altar on the ashes of tradition.

Now.
you are My sugar.

The drums and whistles of our dead keep rhythm as we dance alone in the cold of our
Great Nothing.

You can get it wrong at 1a.m.
If you wait for the smoke to clear.

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.

It's only you,
my dearest, my darkest;
it's only your
soft voice I hear
in the small hours.

These lilac bushes breathe
your name and the soil listens,
remembering everything.

It's only a whisper
of rose oil and
amber, of silk and
skin.

Just a whisper.

It's only you
in the small hours.

Another cold night alone
with nothing but the ringing in my ears
and the traffic on the hill
as I grind into sleep.

You are missing from me

I need your smells to welcome me home.
I want your warmth left on the couch cushion.
I have to see girl stuff infiltrate my cabinets.

Please

Bring me yoga pants left on the chair
and random hair ties in weird places
and long hairs on the pillow
and clean dishes
and **** that I would never think of cooking
and stretch marks
and skin products
and grace
and beauty
and soft lips
and smooth curves
and wet folds
and a soft touch
and mood swings
and chub rolls
and dresses, lots of dresses.

Give me your shadows weight
and your insecurities
and fears
and scars
and let me carry
your nothing.

I will help you heal

This cold night,
this tortuous loneliness,
this moment,
Now,

I need you here

Be my sugar.

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

One room away is a woman
who wants me to **** her.
She is beautiful, intelligent, and drunk.

I am ugly, intelligent, and sober.

Even though my highest and best
tells me to walk away with a smile,
my core screams for a ruining.

One room away is a drunk, *****,
dripping work of art who is also
very, very lucky.

Charles tells me to listen to
my **** and Pablo whispers a reminder
to remember the smell
of early morning wheat
and your eyelashes
while Walt and I gaze at the stars
and think of death.

I smile to myself,
soaking in the after glow
of vanilla chai, good ****,
and dead poets.

One room away is a woman
who's fate was in my sadistic hands.
Two rooms away is a twelve year old
who is dreaming of flag football
and Vans and getting to
level 37 of Skyrim
and one day,
after he wakes up
and after we have our
toaster strudel,
and somewhere in between
me stopping for coffee
and dropping him off,
I'll remind him
that good ***** is everywhere
so take your time and do it right
and when you just don't want to
look at their face,
make some tea,
catch a buzz,
and read some poetry.

42 since I started to breathe rotting leaves under a November blizzard.
34 since I entered this body that day on the porch.
32 since I understood violence to be an accepted
part of life.

So many years I have carried this burden and I am tired, so tired.

So many sad Novembers.

But it's April now and 29 since I tasted a woman's mouth. 26 since I discovered how it felt to be inside another human, while completely inside myself.

It's April now and I crave the pale round goblets of milky skin these young flowers offer.
New rituals indeed smolder as centuries unfold.

It's only been 12 since I knew I was part of God
and 7 since I started hating us for being so close.

It was last March since I lost faith in you and I haven't stopped breathing shadows.
I am so tired, dearest.
What must I do?
It's April now, the walnut tree is black against the streetlight; the sycamores line the empty boulevard and I can smell the ghosts in the park.

These milky skies and milky thighs burn in
my skull.  January has lost her way
again as everyone forgets about the poets.
It's the poets that get them through a grey December.
We all share the same air, we all breathe
each other.
There is a lone willow tree, in the cradle of the park, bearing your divine name, which can be heard whispered by the ghosts who wander
on this lonely reservoir.

I am pining for dried tea bags and empty dresses as long summer nights bring insects and revelations.
I am your stone gargoyle.

I tasted her mind,
after drinking her juices.
Delicious poisons.

You are my sugar.
Bugs and worms whispered the truth.
So get used to it.

Sad monkey, blue girl.
Stars in eyes, hungry bellys.
Crying, now sleeping.

Shadows taste like unanswered crickets and last years leaves.
This question crawls in your skin
as you try to wring the answers out of *******.
There is no right or wrong
in the realm of exo-skeletons
so the crickets sing as
I part the earth and
come on your sacred soil.

I know what I am.

You are my sugar,
white and heaping.

There is only this.
There is only now.

You are here
and I am there
and I will choke on these
shadows the way you choke me
behind your lovely lashes.
Don’t die so soon,precious;
I have many flowers to
spread on your skin.

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

Blue eyes and skinny.
Tattooed harbinger of love.
She doesn't see me.

The war rages on
Choosing battles, difficult
Fight them all, ****, win.

Moonlight, cool breezes.
She lives in another time.
Our love transcends space.

Apathetic sloth,
Your whorish ways bring me down,
*******, filthy ****.

Severed ties, cut cords;
I watched it all fall apart,
From a safe distance.

Have you ever existed
anywhere but in the *****
whirl of my mind?

Are you alive?

Your brain has yet to
process the stimuli I have
in store for your
pale and
willing flesh.

Embrace your dark nothing

This time we have,
this Now;
We are destroying
boundaries and expanding
horizons.
We cross oceans of time
with ink and paper
blood and pain.

We expose our wounds
hoping for
some kind soul
to lick us clean.

We are all one

These hands of mine
on your soft cheek,
I can not die
until I feel you.

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.

Wrap your pale skin
around my dark eyes;
I don't want to see anymore.

Crush my ribs with
your peppermint breath;
I don't need to breathe.

You love him like you should
for he is precious but
I am the one living
on your wet
fingertips.

That's just the way it is.

I sing in the night
to the centipedes and
slugs, to the bats and
the branches it is
a tired dirge,
heavy and long.

This death of ours,
this sacred end,
we hold it in our
sweaty palms
bruises
our tired backs
and our growling stomachs.

We hold it close, this
death of ours.
This final moment,
the only one of
our choosing.

The bugs and the bats,
they own the night.
All I do is listen to the worms
crawling in the ground
and try to imagine the taste
of your skin with three days
of me on you.

I hate myself, now.
I want to die, today, now.
I choose life, right now.

***** water sky,
Trees dipped in ebony ink,
Night, my lover now.

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

and when I hear of your death,

I will fall to my knees and weep

for I will know that all I have now are memories.
I will not be able to call you out of the blue.
I will not be able to drive by and not stop.

I will not know that you are ok and safe and warm.
I will weep because a part of me dies with you.
I weep now thinking of that day.

You are my rotten lover baby.

No other as pure as ours.

I will weep the day I hear of your death.
Most of me dies with you.

Centered and exposed,
Vulnerable offering.
Strength in surrender.

My lips on your lips,
Dainty feet gracing shoulders.
Tasting the divine.

Aching for your skin
Remembering all your smells
Dying for your touch

Soil and ancient roots
Unbearable vacuum
Her silence killed me

Water born lovers-
Ripples became tsunamis,
Floodplains bring new life.

Paddles, aftercare
Classical conditioning
Making this one mine

This restless and irritating
little tick in my skin
won't leave me alone.
I scratch and I pick
and I peel away
my flesh, digging
away the rotten.
My words are matted
cat hair and
malignant growths, needing
to be cut off and out.
I reek of apathy
and whiskey
and lies
and lost sleep
and I feel
as if I am
caught in a swirling
whirlpool of
the kind of loneliness
that consumes men whole.

This has to end.

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.

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.

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.

June. Warm, breezy day.
Three O'Clock, all beauty ceased.
Now, only ennui.

Supine, wrapped in scarlet,
only eye open, third.

I create her skin, flawless and golden;
her hair becomes the color of midnight
on the ocean,
blood at night.

Suspended, bound in purple,
capitulation, freedom.

These lonely visions, they are cobblestones in my twisted path of memories both past and future, overgrown with weeds of time and worn around the edges; an uneven course winding in and around and back again, with branches, heavy and black,
so black,
on all sides.

Where are you, dearest?

I smell acrylics and oils and linseed
and the windows are open; traffic hums on the hill and your brow is furrowed as your brush caresses the canvas, each stroke, love manifest.

Later, you will sing for me

Fluid, mercurial, she sings and paints
and broods
and pouts
and wipes her cheek with her thumb, smearing alizarin crimson on her pixie face.


Time stops at her beauty

The moment falls into my guts, burrowing into
my insides forever;
the plants by the window,
the deep red smear on my angel,
the sound of camelhair hitting canvas, forever mine now
to cherish and carry
with me as I trudge this
desolate and dreary landscape.

*When I come home,
you will sing for me

Psychic soul suckers
Narcissistic little *****
Poetry for pukes