... Dispatches from Dante's 7th Circle:
4:15 a.m.
your talons tore at another's neck*

a feast of flesh
a
favored treat
that lack of brains
but the ego's sweet

pheromones permeated... the smell of ***
divergent innocence
with every flex

bring napkins now for that forbidden drip
as you lay satisfied with a bitten lip

*an index finger knew where to find you
pinky gravity, a room that's moon blue
thumb and pointer, begin to saunter
no ring to cover
just a middle, taunt her

My mouth makes its daily pilgrimage
A sacramental routine to the Divine
She resonates in eyes and mind
But that's a tale for another day


On a pedantic quest
He is meticulous, a perfectionist
In nothing
But this...

Stop now:: hold me at the hips
she is my anticipation in alabaster
so Sadistic, brooding, now my near biting mouth moves...
“please?”
projecting points, two sinful
hipbone temptations
as he traces
soft skin with *******
in the serpentine tradition
Of fallen
Eden Grace
he knows she feels the same

Her chest pounding, sweat shakes
a daytime ****** for that salination:::
coyly she recoils
her toy taught and long since conditioned for the taste

it all seems so familiar
A mind's race to the vault of all his ***** thoughts of her
”Now to play in real time what was run through
in those shower wet ideations”

cdh

A crush
A raw spark of love, only as dangerous as the subsequent blaze that consumes you



              He loves her as a selfish escape
              He loves her for the promise
              of brilliant mornings
He loves her
              for the touch of her rain soaked legs, after those knee cap kisses
              she is a dashboard masterpiece,
              reclined    
              Interred with a flesh of subterranean
              brilliance
              He loves her for the chance at
              brilliance
     The Choking Charcoal effect of her eyes'
              Brilliance
      The Choice of a Chalice imbibed as he drinks between her taste brilliant

cdh

Gliding her fingers from soft to tight
The gilded marionette makes a move familiar
Around my neck, between my legs
She pull/plays my manhood the one who pegs
The tips of index, middle, ring and pinkie
A dismissive look,
with an intent to shrink me

Chased by insanity
Chased by a pseudo-chaste ****-ring tease
yarn controls my escape,
ears to ignore my pleas  
strings of sadistic strings of laughter  
strings saunter strings of master
strings of *******, yet still i walk her
as a ghostly orbiting satellite stalker

******* purple::: smile lust sensation
As the puppeteers rope cut my circulation

Only then can she strum her favorite tune
The Pinocchio Waltz played on a five string loom
She tunes her string with every finger
A dismissive giggle plays the part of singer

The middle for the daily “*******” because she can

The ring will be for another man

The pointer lets you know her needs

The pinkie for the soul that bleeds

The thumb is for the empress’ judgement  

Till she slaps you down, (I ******* love) her ****** bludgeons

I’m not of this time
Future traveler on vacation in the Land of Lost, a ship out of fuel, a world confusing, 30th century fool
I came to observe blind beings who bend to the will of a surrounding chaos

After 1000 years adrift... Tired of the creeping tedium, I’ve become one
Tired of Logging anime patches and social media confessionals for the folks back home, I became one

You see, 21st century tragedy **** is big in the future, along with Akira and the selected letters of Eugene O’Neil

I’m lost, tell my subordinates
Confused, no need of a map, I know the coordinates, but I’ve become one

You’re not supposed to fall in love on these missions
Just take manga pics, perhaps monitor your fission

But the eyes I’m lost in
A fading autumnal green
I had to see her, I had to be seen
A violation but I’m trained,
still I’m weak, a mind so ingrained
(I am one of you now)

While drunk counting slightly smeared, sparkles on glass glittered lips, I found myself: in love
I told her: “The wine taste on your tongue is sacramental”
A feigned profundity, it’s incidental
(a convenient disguise for my insanity)

She doesn’t love me back. But I found myself

cdh

in out, in out,  
a pain of preposition repetitions
teaches the celluloid torture of ocean green eyes
  
::: I take only truth from her sea foam gaze (and from her lips a lonely lie)


Is the imitation of repeated mistakes still the
sincerest form of flattery?

Are the cutting hematic glances of invisable ink
designed to Draw and Quarter me?

If so, let the blood letting begin miss

With a sketched Steel Heart , I puppy dog pursue you with a pirouette pen, spun  into your Iron Maiden.

and as Thumb Screws and finger blues
replace those bite, **** fantasies, I marvel with appreciation at my favorite mistake.

No one does cold like her

cdh

A Sermon for the Flawed

Blessed are the visions and fantasies of the morally compromised.
they manifest like a Genesis Garden.
With fruit bitten knowledge from their own meta-modernist novel.

Blessed are the incandescent
it is they who know that life is infinite... if only in increments.

Blessed are the painful lamentations, one day the world will know your poetry

Blessed are the heartbreakers, they give gravity to the pain that pulls ink to pen

Blessed be the traumatized artists, they who stand in upright in eternal defiance

in victory over their traumatizer
in victory through canvas
in victorious acrylic paint masterpieces (((a rage in refutation))).  

Blessed are the autumnal attractions,
an April Renaissance, through frost bitten winters, for those that are godly and the struggling sinners  

Blessed are the stolen hallway glances, galvanized in the explosive immersion of instant attraction...

Blessed are those who
engage
in a breathtaking taboo
surrender.
Written meticulously upon
shards of glass
from a broken moral compass.