depth perception: limbs like brushes, black lungs scraped for paint.
this is how a creature is made:
stealing far too much time away
in thoughts, a worm, in a book or in a grave
I’d imagine a fatal infection feels the same.
fiends that are hooks
surrounding me
attached to my graves
are spending far too much time away
in sleeping books
that I read directly to them
they dont ******* listen
interpreting my words their own way
while I have been just waiting
waiting to be carried away
caligulas mark a blurry cross
hammering christian screams into pulpits
maiming
all these ******* fiends
all that were dear to me
swinging gallows with a belt, missing me and hammering freely
im not like them, I’m not free
stirring in indecision while I watch myself bleed
dwelling in solitary secrecy.
what is left to see
there is nothing
although there is this wind, as the metal eagle settles into skin,
a sunburst of splatter against a backdrop of sin
falling thru a mouth u opened and took away
stretching a canvas onto rusted coral grids
beneath a bridge white wind flourishing
conscious waves of traffic electric stops and starts
This is it floating from limbo into static human art
the summer on pavement
the winter is red
abstract and unrequited
bones out of mouth trailing
a perfunctory rainbow spout
bones and jelly spread perfectly
an imperfect message but full of colors
lead on a leash through the pavement
from pleading dry bread lips
that before were sewn shut
in small cracks in rubble and filth,
the ***** blooming black flowers
too soon, or too soft
bloated fingers wave
rubber burned red
at what could have been
eyes setting fire to this consecrated patch of regret
amused as they struggle
in all the clustered corners of alleyways downtown
standing in the open
devils chasing dragons
leaving their offspring in the garbage
in a multitude of godless hosts
god wont rise with them
he says smear them like beacons
in remembrance of your long winded comatose
at every place where those flowers fight to grow.
jesus i swear it’s like Mother Mary’s garden eloped
with a self righteous catalyst of chemical throats
all sinning reletntlessly
immaculate creatures
****** raw by their own ghosts
and i know no matter what he says
they will never grow
they have no souls they will never grow
god watches down from empty space
stars planets celestial stains
with eyes from two kingdoms
living the dead
is he reading while i write this
she said he watches every subtle move we make
You see the dead like i do
floating over early graves
waiting for the forbidden fruit
like i do waiting for a small mistake
does he understand what the **** im saying
or does he only see in black and grey
Feeble struggling tongues sliced off
brought to bended knee muttering
how he speaks:
let their tears fall blue
and let them pray for red
they will never grow green
always reaching clandestine
from small clusters of flowering leaves
at the base of the river Lethe
we wont let them forget to struggle forever
through purple snaring weeds
(As we watch) grey angels drooling godlessness (omniscient breed)
soft feline lips begging
for a silver drip of water
or a touch of ***** sunlight
on flawless unbroken skin.
he is watching, and the world is dripping
from an overflowing belly sun dangling from a cross chain
tethered to my dreaming while I am here struggling
epiphany manifest in me
a new way to **** inhibition, a new depth perception,
and a poison to escape this reality