If Santa saw us now,
His copious joy might melt
And stain his white palace black.

Oh, if the jolly fat man saw us now,
Our black bells ringing scarlet,
The white snow-globe flakes flowing ******,
And the consumerist *******
Selling love for slick green and silver;
Oh, if he saw these rabid dogs,
Chewing flesh and spitting bone
for an iPhone,
His joy would end right there.

If Santa came down off his throne,
And saw our minty venom saturating sacks
Staining toys meant for joy,
His steel boots rusty from snow;
Oh, with this glance he takes upon us,
Witnessing a competition of hate,
He’d scribble his two lists black,
And his red joviality would pierce homes,
With death,
And holiday.

Darkness gorges on lutescent light,

Deep sapphire water and sage woods encircle.

Lush sylvan vegetation coughs angelically,

Sprinkling aurulent dust upon moss and grass;

Fantasy collides and abolishes night.



Rough paper melts into bliss,

Glassy eyes wander, hopelessly, wonderfully lost;

Passionate fingers flip,

Cinnamon aroma burns nostrils,

And electrified mind lofts reality,

As eight-horned fairies lick moonlight lakes,

And vermillion hued suns burn cerulean skies.

Rain floods the sage canvas,
Saturating greenery to bring life,
And rot.
Thick, musty brown deals out death,
Next to brilliant lilac lilies and
Mazarine weeds.
Luminous sun scorches grass−now brown, and soil−
Springing seeds, gorged with life, loftily.
Human oils from fingers touch,
And pluck:
Ending life utterly,
Within stained glass and water.
Yet, this pastoral corpse produces beauty,
Love, and hope: healing hearts,
And mending stems of life through smell
And soft touch,
Until rusty leaves, unshackled, and withered aroma,
Plummet.
Thus our destruction, brings life,
And rot.

Hands deal treacherously,
The wind brushes the ferns;
Calamity.

If your silky lavender eyes choose not to meet mine
That’s fine.
Fantasies live and then die.
But for you, I'll try.

A man whose eyes hold only yours,
Sweet, lavender gazing privately,
Other sight blinded by joviality.

Uncontrollable emotion,
A shotgun blast from dad,
Deters no serious man.

A princess,
A jewel,
An emerald,
A girl.

Not an object,
But a privilege.

A man not centered on ***,
Relationship not just in the bed,

Kisses on tangerine cheeks,
Through rain,
Foretelling lifelong love.

Soft skin swims,
I touch with permission,
We laugh and love,
None other.

Flawless beauty,
Like diamond,
Like velvet,
A wonderful image.
Thus you.

Corpses will lay tattered,
Whether burned with fire or frozen with ice,
In the streets and in the taverns,
Bodies will lay in macabre patterns.
Deep, red blood produced by inhumane devices,
Will stain every street and every country,
Delivering humanity’s demise in one simple trice.
And this destruction looms with great certainty,
Whether burned with fire or frozen with ice.

As a child I cried
When denied
Your creamy-white inside
So fresh and benign
You gave me addictive, bloodshot eyes
Like a sugary sweet joyride
I long for you by my side
Comforting lone nights, amply supplied
I could eat you poolside
Or outside
Inside or in a landslide,
Hearthside or in a hayride,
Formerly provided storewide
Now you sit on the offside
Nowhere I can find,
Saddened am I,
To see that Chauncey crocodile has finally dried,
Along with hostess, and died.