My sorrow turns to rage
as my rage then melds back into grief.

I cannot close my eyes
without this cognitive motif;
images, imagination,
regret and disbelief.

**** this,
I want to die.

Such thorough disgust.

But I don't want to die as this,
not yet.

but it's there. Eating away.

I can tell
Tonight I'll know no sleep.

this thing
it did:
hid
in that
penumbra
pooling
'round
cognitive
conjugations
of
postulatio­ns
peaking
above m(i)
unconscious

i tried to lift
its heavy
concept
but
synaptic
sinew
frayed
on its serrated
flavor
severing realities
from
actualities

I’ve known some Wiccans in my time,
Sky clad witches!
Wicked!  They

... chanted spells in words that rhyme.
I watched,
waiting,
wanting to play.

I neither sought portion nor spell—
not trusting the magic of it.
I thought them ******--
all raised in Hell—
whose sinful flesh I yearned to get.

I met a witch named Sally Sue,
I took a longing for that Miss.
You won’t believe what she could do
with just a nickel and a kiss.

Her beauty rare,
she stole my heart,
that sky clad witch named Sally Sue.
She taught me secrets of her art.
She taught me things I never knew.

When moonlight’s full on Solstice eve,
their gossamer **** bodies dance.
And power men cannot conceive
is raised to give new life a chance.

Daughters from Hell? These Wiccans—
Nay!
With grace and beauty they create
more peace and love than words can say
to save a world, dying with hate.

But in despair we had to part—
I and my Wiccan, Sally Sue.
She left me with a broken heart
to do what only Wiccans do.

His naked hands, so cold
I become lavender

sticks poking from lace sheaths, wanting to
be a wedding dress
or just a piece of someone in love

the powder, aroma of a man
who forsook his lover last spring.

Her tomb is just a box filled with earth
that opens to the pearly
gate of heaven

and each of her legs have grown
stiff because god so desperately needed to

shape a marble mold of the most
perfect being he
ever created and killed way, way too soon.

(the road has ended as
many stories as it has begun)

Hot concrete pried her mouth open
and I will be the one to
sing through it until she gets her voice back

like using sugarcane
to lure clouds into leaving the sky.