Home that isn't
Is full of spiders
What do they eat
I'll sweep them up
Until it's lovely
Again

We are here to remember a woman. For indeed. She was one of those. A woman so vile. So repulsive. We remember her today because we are glad she is dead; for certainly, she may have become the next Idi Amin; for she wore a similar countenance, a hideous sneer permanently grimacing upon her wicked face. Also her love of torture. I recall the other day, when her black steps still cursed our earth, her slapping a cup of change from a homeless man’s hands while a nerve grating cackle escaped from her lips. She screamed into his face, him very frightened, her quite drunk, “Get a job you worthless Jew!”

On top of being a wicked ice queen who was a fan of Aaron Carter, this rotten corpse;  who will more than likely sour the soil here and create a pet cemetery effect on the other corpses, was an insatiable ****. She was the female Wilt Chamberlain. She will add one more to her long list after this service, when the gravedigger defiles her body for the last time, but really, he is the one who will be defiled and I feel sorry for the poor corpse ****** autistic mute who shall soon insert his semi-flaccid member into our not-so dearly departed. His **** will probably fall off.

How unlovable this creature. Quickly now. Help me grab her legs and heave-** her into the woods to be torn apart by the beasts she resembled, body and soul. If indeed she possessed a soul. Who can say? If she did, console yourselves in the fact she is gargling on gallons demon ***** at this very moment.  Her suffering will be legendary, as was assured to me by the Hell raiser himself in a dream I had.

Her death was a brutal one. And ******. Good riddance. Thank you to mortuary affairs for providing a closed casket. The smell was overwhelming. Especially when she was alive.

She leaves behind not just a cheering crowd of happy people, but a child, who now an orphan, will be put to the workshops immediately. Sewing Nike swooshes onto LeBron James limited edition pumps in the triangle shirtwaist factory. Which our society has deemed appropriate for soot covered orphans and their small hands.

Of course. None of these terrible things are true. The deep love I feel for this woman is only matched by the loss I feel at her passing. She was beautiful in life, generous and giving, she expected nothing in return for her many kindnesses. She loved to experience life, and I loved experiencing it with her. I enjoyed every minute I was lucky enough to spend with her.
Certainly, she was a magical girl. Colors will dim, Sounds will be muted, and the world itself is lessened. Goodbye my love for the last time. Rest easy draped in your silken clothing, forever underneath the shades of mountain wildflowers.

Robert E. Howard — 'All fled—all done, so lift me on the pyre—The Feast is over, and the lamps expire.'

William Butler Yeats’ epitaph:
Cast a cold eye
On life, On death
Horseman, pass by!

Blurry eyed **** of paper
and memory
quicker
pull it open
oh
I love it
Bring me more

I don't know what I'm doing anymore
but I know I'm doing it all wrong

Dusty you pick it up
but it's been too long
and the chords feel strange
and the sounds not right
so you
fuddle with
pegs a bit
and is
still not quote right
so twist them harder
until they
Snap and piercing
note vibration worth it's
Snapping blessed bleeding
fingers to play
cracking oak in
oiled frame ashamed
shamed smashed against
the doorways of discordant sea
there
that's better

Being awake at 3 am
Cracked red eyes
shaking with anxiety
is such a contrast
to a warm arm wrapped peacefully
around you asleep

Crowd rushes forward
surging
and back
blaring horns to battle
and gasping doom
swarthed blades
screaming metal
thunderous applause
raucous madmen
best concert ever

Weeping bleeding memory tree
Who branches are heavy
When amber globes hang
And pop with sudden death
Smashed on
Gravitational wombs
Careen into cayenne powdered loam
They'll unfold Irises in the dawns morning
sputtering sparking electric dreams
where it grows beside the Styx

Writing a thousand
angst filled lines
isn't soothing
my ache

Layed on the floor
breathing was shallow
too weak to have more
and flustrated about it

my feelings overflow
with nowhere to go
waves smashing against the breakwater
spraying sea foam
a cacophony no one can hear but me
because it's roaring
inside my head

Today is my last good day
and although you normally don't know
that is coming
I do
and If I could have pushed back the dawn
of this day I would have
for more time with you

Eyelids are worse with
gravity when you're
breaking a door
******* it's been shut too long so
I want to river this until the
whole town glows
and goes under and you can see
its reflection from the surface
Of glass
stay awake just a little longer with me

Bottled stars
And extinguished constellations
Melting heat
Warming welcome
Dangerous sparks
Bottomless pain
Hidden behind
Blue shifting tundras
struggling for purchase
So blue
They'll pierce you to the core
Of your being

I want to build
an epic blanket fort
so deep and tall
you'd think the
vietcong dug it
warm walls to sink into
until you can barely
Breathe
like drowning in comfort
I would never come out

What difference does it make
die wth regrets or
pride
    instead
I choose
the former
     I poisoned the ground
painted the walls offun colors
and broke bottles in streetcars
checking your bank account .  
    you're so far away
From your own
              Too risky you say
I'll smash my own body acadian
        pavements
at one hundred percent increase
   It doesn't matter

You haven't replied to
The letters I've written
because
I haven't sent them

I'm falling backwards
And the air is rushing by
The light flickers
Like it's coming through treebranches
And I'm still falling
I'll twist my body
To see the ground
But there is none
It's a void
Of perfect blackness

When a passing cloud
might meet another
and together unleash
                                             Lightning
On thirsting ground
our significant spark
                                             Strikes
Bone-brittle tinder
buoyed by the quiet
breeze, an ember
                                             smolders until
Evening wind blows,
carries, smoking wisps
upon its wings into
                                            the forest
Sighs into crackling
summer leaves until
the canopy
                                            burns
So take note of every
passing cloud, because
you never know

follow skinny white legs up
that slipshod hill
of cascading pebbles

sun filtering down on your hair
i wish i could run my fingers through it
and smell its flowers

my chest tightens when i peek over the edge
but you aren't afraid at all
balancing when you lean over an edge dropped rock

Ah! to see the flash of your eyes again
in our youth
when i close my own

archaic pottery
and
stolen Spanish gold
tiny figurines with
their hearts being carved
on display
and around corners
is the ****** god
In his new old death cult form
adorned on the walls
iconographic
bringing his light
to new old worlds
saints and skulls venerate
his feet
patrons shuffle their own slowly
and whisper
look at this treasure

is love
is it kindness patience understanding
is it bred from desire and lust
   just a word
something else
compassion and giving
   empathetic
a part of yourself to another
is it rough
            harsh
   sacrificing
grinding
stressful
     painful
between these extremes of
elation, joy
a 3 am phonecall
makes your chest burst open
and shatter you like a mirror
you'll see your tear stained face in
      day after day
become this jumbled jigsaw
of a human
be so attached to one person
   then one day
        not
and eventually love
someone else
or is it possible
to love two
and not let go
keep that clenched into your fist
           locked in a box
   guard it jealously
all those pieces
that can't be love
      .......can it?

I should be sadder
Bawling great big tears
To drown my cheeks
But I'm just sitting here
Am I a robot
I feel blunt
Muted
Lethargic
What's wrong with me

thought of writing so
many letters they fill to bursts
of rain worn
mailboxes
Peeling painted
faces so adored
you'll see no other and
ache forever with the
thought of writing so
many letters

I'm kinda on that boarder
between tipsy
and really drunk
maybe a couple more
to obliterated
it's not making me feel better

myocardial infarction Eldrich power/ed
Chosen brisk perpetuity motion machines
Pumping nodes to arterioles backwards
stenographer tap rapping webs to dull the
Stoking sin flanged might gate cell shape

All the rules of the universe, its light, heat, gravity, electromagnetism, its math, its history, its civilizations and people; all that was, is, and will ever be; exist within the pages of a book.

The book sits on a shelf next to other books. Some of the books on the shelf look like our book, except maybe one letter is different. Others tell stories, or are written in Chinese and Greek. Most of the books are complete chaos, letters mashed together by insane typewriters that spout nothing but gibberish at best and at worst are just a jumble of letters. Pages and pages are blank or contain only one character. Notes of music and vibration spring forth from others.

Rows of shelves go on and on into the distance, in a building with floor after floor of library space. Elevators and Stairs take you to new floors, some of them are underwater or on fire or upside down. Everything ever written or yet to be written or imagined or unimagined is contained within.

This is the Multiverse.

I followed you over arbitrary timbers
Crossing rushing torrents
For intense love
Secret nights
And permanent kisses
Riotous sunset smothered mountains
In fields of wrought iron autumn
Meandering monument moss covered lichens
And beautifully broken stones
Our names are carved in promise
Clasped hands spun gold
Close to you is moments of peace
Heartbeats unforgotten
Moments
Every breath adored
Past a worn marker of this
World so dark until resurrection
Dark dispersed
By the only light I know
Blue orbs extinguished constellations
Tell me your secrets
They are our secrets
Your stories
Are our stories

Crimson Scintilla and
Acrid steaming
Pick up speed
Down the *****.
beleaguer
The cottages
Without warning

I listen to your music
it makes me feel closer to you
and calms me down
since you've gone
I'll do it until I'm dead
god knows when the ****
that will be

Encrusted ballasts flicker
over processed lines
and those predatory octogons
Follow you
with its clicking clicking clicking
mandible clocks
count is rhythm
fluorescently

Sometimes when I'm driving
and I'm alone
I say out loud
"I wish I was dead"
without thinking about it

What the hell is normal
anyways
everyone's running around
with these terrible secrets
so devastating
keeping it in
making them alone and
disconnected
that phone off the hook noise

I want to edge my foot closer
Over that
Crumbling
Landscape
Of cliff
Side
And feel no
Purchase there
Only air
And have my stomach
Rise
In my throat
With a
Sudden pull
And a rushing
Wind
Flapping garments
And suddenly
Break
My body
To pieces
Shattered
On your body
Below

Silver Forest
Glinting Steel
Pierces Me
From Every Angle
Walls of Razor
And Floors of Blade
Slowly

Starts in the stomach
works is way up
Enveloping shroud
eloping off with
sensibility
sexuality
senses
gripping onto
wringing anxiety jams
for sale
just shake it all off
and stop worrying so much

When the night is clear and cold
and the stars poke through
the pine branches
hold yourself closer and block out the wind
and grip my hand tighter in the dark
I'll keep you safe
from a startled deer
In evenings shade

My thoughts won't stop
like the 5 o'clock rail
that's running behind
look at my pocket watch
I want off

Midnight and it's a pitch black
ceiling
I'm staring at
feeling alone
and hating myself
for every little thing
all the muscles
tightening
with stress and regret
How unlovable and pathetic
is wretched me

The stones of lambs – and folded hands
grass as green as Seafoam
summer sky – this place we lie
The flowers grow as brushes
to paint our fates
- in heartbeats

I awoke
from the blackest bird suicidal coma
I wasn't ready to uplift my soul
Clasped hands like you were the new              church
take me with you to nowhere
on dirt covered highways

I always see in my dreams this theme of
long stretches
desert
flat sand colored plains
baked ground with scraggly roots
dried or wet salt lakes
a punishing angry yellow sun
that's the foreground and behind
oil painted and smeared mesa
or mountainous distant horizons
I'm always traveling
it's important where I'm going
but I go nowhere in particular
by foot or car
sometimes horseback
what am I looking for
unconscious what are you telling me
The other day I remember more
clearly
I was wearing my armor
and wading through a field
hip high reeds with water or a river
to my left and as I walked
I saw a gap in the foliage
across the river
was a figure, a person, wearing black
they just stood there
didn't move
stared back and did
nothing else
but there was clearly
menace
and it ended

I can see that double blue horizon
where the sea and sky meet
Barely
through the trees in the parking lot
There's a little gravel trail
leading through the ground cover
called Pacific Mist on both sides of the trail
that leads down
to that sea salt smell
and the loud echos
of water striking cliffs
and large jagged half - islands
farther out into the bay
the longer you stay
the more you belong here

Pour the killing
                            Fire
Upon our raucous invaders heads
from the murderholes
we rain their
              death
until they run aflame
screaming
from the iron gates

Force my chest
deep on the grinding wheel
firing sparks
into my heart
ill burn myself out here
so the razors of yesterday
won't sting

Oh god I haven't had nightmares
Like that in
awhile
crouching in that basement
bathtub
from my childhood
the theme was clearly fearful
Someone had come
and I was hiding
making myself small
taking little breaths
so they couldn't hear my terror
my heartbeats
but I could hear
their heavy foot steps
on the carpet
crunching it
upstairs
maybe the door will hide me
when they open it and I make
sure the lights are off but
there's more than one now
and
they're coming

I enjoy words
Little words that fit unto tiny cubbeyhole spaces, a word like Key, something you could fit into a pocket, makes other words rhyme and think about secrets and doors. A wooden frame, gateway to another room or someplace else, it opens and closes and clicks and turns and clinks and all from that tiny three letter word.
Large words that stretch and yawn and roll around in your brain marble like trying to fathom and plumb their bottoms. A word like Miasma. Miasma Miasma. What does that make you think of. Like a big stinky cloud, it creeps along the ground because it's heavier than air, something soup like, but I've never heard that word used to describe a soup. Or really used for much of anything at all. It's not a word people say or write to each other. Miasma. That's sad. It's a beautiful word. An interesting word.
"Normal" words, everyday words like buttons. Makes me think about a button on your coat. Maybe it's blue or one of its shades like cobalt navy or azure. And it's popped off and rolled away under a couch or in a crack somewhere. And we all agreed that that Buh sound was what those round objects made of all sorts of materials that hold your shirt closed, that sound is what that thing is going to start with... buh tuns... or **** tons... how strange. That we all agreed that.