My memory is fading,
your face, a burnt and ashen sillouette
of blood in my mirror.
Catch me, I'm falling,
hiding in a nightmare of *******
unrealized sexuality,
unwanted.

I'll spin on out,
uncatchable,
ruining lives along the way,
carrying only the broken memory of you,
Love.

Just a simple twist of words
to tighten maybe pull the cord
as brittle as the shells may be,
there's the watchful eyes of Miss Luci.

I've been unaware
holding this head under water
driven in by tiny bones
ossuary of the lines on your
face.

He's been stirring
water pours off as he rises
attracted by brittle bones
sarcophagi of dreams
broken.

When your blonde hair turns black, through the lenses of dark ink
I cannot wash away,
I breathe your name, in syllables,
wrought like the iron fence
you built to keep me behind:

Mare-Eee-Uhn...

It's of no use.

You bore my ******* name,
and I cannot ******* bear it.

I choke you down, into my sleep,
down to your knees,
and I consume you,
a foaming ****** from the *****-
hole of my conscience.

If I had known all of those moments
seen them coming so slowly
feathers raining from the sky
drop down onto me
embryos, suddenly cut from the umbilical cords,
they fall,
shatter brittle bones on the ground,
and you run back to the safety
of your maiden name.

Maybe if I were to die
you would die too
and the world would be
a better place?

Maybe you should
be unloved
and empty
for the rest of your life.

Maybe there'd be
some justice.

She's just a little girl.
Please, just leave her be.
The way she looks at me
shows me eternity.

So leave her in peace,
this cold-bed night alone,
for sure her heart knows
which way is home.

It's funny,
you know
that this relationship
that seemed about
teaching me to trust again,
has only turned me
into a Mysoginist.

A light at the end of the tunnel,
bursting out from the dark,
into four days of
midnight playgrounds
rainbow bracelets
highway lanes and passenger seat,
full of music at four A.M.

A little bit of hurt,
never a milligram of harm,
brings this closer
than standing in front of your desk,
idly moving words between us,
ever could have.

I'll be

dreaming...

Salt...Sand...

Your brown skin
in the Sun.

There is a long tail of madness
that echoes from this wreckage. Molotov is making cocktails,
as Kalashnikov assaults us
at forty-two plus five.

Triptamine takes the backseat,
and your carpet bombs
lay me to waste,
******.

I love you.

You are
the only
woman
I will ever
trust.

The green hill's mist
is weeping through
the blades
of grass.

I wonder
if this gun
will ***
in my mouth
as hard as he did
in yours?

Hey, Starchild…

Can you feel me lean  into you?

The weight of the moon -
immeasurable tons,
yet somehow making you lighter?

(An astronaut on the surface
gaining more height than you expect
with each leap-step.)

In the end, it may in reality be that
the Sun
is illuminated
by the moon.

There are three dresses,
drinking the rain
and the sky is doing somersaults
in your bones.

Do mother birds mourn
when baby birds leave the nest?
Well I'll bet the pain of two at once
is something difficult to express.

He watched, eyes like bullets,
as his innards spilled down
the ziggurat's multicoloured steps.

Sacrifice impetus:
To win the Gods' request

And as he breathed his request,
she was his again,
and he died
happy.

I didn't receive anything
I could hold in my hands
from you
But the best gift I received
this year on my birthday
was a chance.

I hold that
in my heart.

Cradle, my love, in my arms
and hear the wind whisper your name.

Open your heart,
the world is cold enough already.

The storms that have
spread their grey fingers across you are such a burden.

Listen to my nursery rhyme
that drips from my lips,
and as you feel the
heavy comfort of my hand
on your head,
sleep.

The lens is out of focus,
for the first time,
the lens is out of focus.

This mixture of metol and phenidone is making
the edges show
clearer.

So hold me down,
run your fingers across me,
and I'll slide right into focus.

My love
pure
like new.

If ever
questioned,
know
it's true.

My eyes
dilate
when I look
at
you.

When you wake,
the clouds of your foggy head shall part.

My semblance of what I could be,
my treasure of all,
the ghost in my shell.

In comfort,
feathers drop like dew to your skin,
mocha, gold, soft and hairless.

My flower blooms for you,
in this bed of weeds.

When my inspiration is gone,
there is still always you.

I
am
nothing
like
my
dad.

I'm reading the Codex Gigas,
one hundred and sixty pounds of flesh,
black hairy tongue,
penitent Battenti sponges staining the robe with blood,
stalking through Campania.

Crushed insect nests,
a shiver up the jaw from food not had in too long.
Squashing caterpillars,
the insides squirt from their ketchup-packet bodies
in a spray of slime-neon green.

Pheromone cream drips from your *****, I gag it down,
curdled milk-paste.
When pulling the dress down, one never knows
whether you will get a paper cut,
or a gaping jaw of hairy
life.

We all live like pigs, but need to clean up to appear to live
like everyone else appears to live when we visit them.

You rob me of myself; a teacher
walks into a food bank ashamed and finds his student working there.

My life experiences pile up like broken infant bones,
fragile phalanges of famine,
until all I add up to are decades of
Holodormo,
the Killing Hunger.

You hide in the sea,
I lick your left palm.

My stomach is full of feathers,
and in the same manner with which you pour venom from your eyes,
I leak ozone from my pores.

There isn't enough time in the world for me to impress you
to the point of ******.

I cut little pieces of your words apart
in my head, like paper dolls. Pulled
apart slowly
(don't tear),
stretched in an accordion waltz.

The tune they sing
is spoiled milk.

We had such a luminous trial
survived our sentence, self-imposed
on cluttered hearts.

We could have had everything...

But you started listening to other voices
The ones outside our heads,
fused at the soft-spots.
The ones that sang sweet ******,
the ones we left our suicide
to please

and those murmuring homicides
murdered what we were,
scalped our skulls apart,
and you let them.

I have been bleeding to death
from the top of my brain
ever since.

Remember me?

I'm the man
who stood by and watched
as your own Mother
your own Father
cut you out of their lives
and your own brother
told your husband he should have succeeded
instead of failing
to **** himself.

Remember me?

I'm the man
who pulled you out of closet
you would hide in
screaming, crying, wanting to
hurt yourself while
your own Mother
your own Father
your own sister
were deaf to your cries.

Remember me?

I'm the man who was there for
half a decade, learning to
care for you
bathe you
give you space
(Just don't lock the door, love.)
laid on your back
when the weight of me
was the only way you could
feel safe.

Remember me?

How quickly,
shamefully,
selfishly,
you forgot
on that day last June,
when you told me,
you were leaving.

I didn't forget you,
or that kiss I knew would be our last.
And I wish I could remember that
last look as you drove away,
but the image in my mind
is blurred,
just as it was on that day,
as the tears bent the light
from the face I loved,
as it drove away,
free of tears.

My brilliant past
has constricted down
from a vibrant family life
full of
love
smiles
hugs
support
memories
unconditional

down to a bare leftover remnant
of all that was.

And my tears over this
and my cries of

"I want my family back!"

into the black

mean nothing
miles away
from what doesn't even exist
anymore.

There are times when I feel like I am dying,
and I never wish it were true more than when I realize it isn't.

My imagination runs wild like wind through wheat,
catching on the trailing edges of her summer dress as she runs by,
and away.

My fingers just cannot hold on.

I can see through her dress when the sun hits it right,
and I can feel the waves her hip bones made
those times when we came together in that field,

but she is a mystery now,
no more familiar than the feeling of the bottom of the sea.

I close my eyes, dream of her, and fade into the soil.

Drinking down your melted chalk,
yet always choke it down.
Which of your nicotine stained lies,
inside this belly's grown?

I'm day dreaming
as you night dream
and I can only
imagine what inverted blessings
have I done that now
reveal you to me,
sleeping,
away from any problems,
only
innocence
and
beauty remain.

I will not serve this
weak heart.

If it were a million years from now,
you'd still be
in my mind
in my heart
on my skin

I thought.
I believed.
You were the one thing
I had faith in,
when I was a universal atheist.

I would have ridden into the dusty East
to fight Crusades in ****** tribute
to you.

All those years with you,
are like a crumbled castle
I walk through at times,
wanting
the walls rebuilt
the gates strong again
the flags no longer
dead on their poles,
tattered and charred.

But this place is a ghost now,
just like your presence,
in my chest.

When you need
me too hold you
I am there.

When you need
closeness because you're sad
I am there.

When you need
me to use your body
I am there.

When you need
time with me
I am there.

But the opposites
are never true
and the weight
of your one-sided calendar
is
crushing
and
depleting
me.

I wrote your name
onto my skin
with the permanent marker
of a razor.

And when you left...

I washed it away
from my body
with the cleansing power
of a blowtorch.

I would dig deep:

past the

sun-dress
knee-highs
*******

to the

flesh
scars
secrets

bring back the

joy
confidence
excitement

protect them with my

heart
words and
deeds.

Oh to hang (calm down)
from the neck (i said relax)
of you (see?)
but not like a necklace (how cliche')
but an albatross (as i do).

Here's my simple life
diamond spinning in a whirl
Up, down, hop on Pop
where's my little girl?

Sunspots and stutters singled out in the paradox of oil,
dripping like *** I do not want.
Curse my name, break me apart
leave me (hear).
*******.

Help me crawl to you,
who are you?
*******.

Drape me in your comfort, fingers in my hair,
my baby screams, hold your hand on my head,
cradle me in your peace,
death.

Wipe the tears from these sun-burnt cheeks.
This ******* temple shattered,
crushed me beneath it,
crippled my ability to breathe.
Pray for me.
*******.

These brittle teeth are covered in germs.
Let me inside you where I turn my sins over to you.
Who are you?
*******.

I would skin my bones,
cover them in tar,
bathe in alcohol,
light me aflame.
Love me. Hate me.
I do.
*******.

Ocean-sized my arms wide
taking pictures of a happy girl,
washing away in the tide,
the water split at sun rays,
sand was beneath your feet
oozing up through the toes,
pulling you longingly outwards
as the water slid by
and back out
to where it came from.

I stood in the day
outstretched arms
as I stared directly into the sun.

I could feel its life giving aura
bounce off me,
not penetrating my brittle heart
and often times

I'm ready for it to end.

Oh, you feel guilty?

*******.

Oh, you feel like you're getting
beaten up?

*******.

Oh, you feel out of control?

*******.

oh, you...

Don't you get it?

*******!

It feels like Winter’s fingers
and they’re pulling me under
by the ankles
once again.

I struggle but it is
never enough,

I thaw out from my freeze but it is
never enough.

I spend thirty days in a blast furnace but it is
never enough.

Oh save me, Spring,
that I might live,

as no matter my struggle,
or how strong I am,
or how well I swim
or tread this slushed and frozen lake,
chunks of ice
bump against my exposed flesh
splitting it as I am pulled,
choking,
down and under that frozen pond
where I am drowned.

What a cool waking to life again
edging towards the green
euphoria seeps in the mind
as the cold of Winter leaves.

From the dead
and from the gray
roots of love
find a way.

How did it feel to watch me,
trusting you,
oblivious
to all your crimes
against us?

You proved everyone right.

You proved me wrong.

It's funny how
things like
opening and closing
the windows
with the daybreak
stick in your mind.

Tied to furniture
in near-weeping posture:
lust can always bring you here,
carried in its spider-cradle arms,
eager for my marks
across your hidden spots.

I am your ***** little secret,
*****.

I have erased my name,
in shadows lurk,
behind barely closed curtains,
watched by Gideon Bibles,
hazed in blue television light,

your only sound,
barely abled gasps of,
"Yes, Daddy...please, Sir.
Yes, Daddy...hurt me more."

Tied down,
bruised,
bitten,
opened,
all your secrets revealed,

collapse
into the pool of *******,
muddle your words just enough
smile your bottom lip,
cutting against your teeth.

I have won the respect of the princess,
shown her the strength she has,
awoken her mind.

My reward is the ownership of her whorish body.

Backslide, the tongue, tracing the stitches on the
Toltec pyramid I've erected to you.
I've begged permission,
let me walk into it's depths,
desecrate it,
splatter this *****
across the inner walls in hieroglyphics
that spell out the simple joy of our shared muscular spasms.

The hair on your
arms,
back of neck,
belly,
is standing *****.

I can feel it.