Walt Whitman was picking
Apples out in the supermarket
Store, or so you thought you

Saw and stood and stared all
Awkward and scared. Such
Eyes and beard and hat and

The fingers turning over the
Apple rubbing the thumb over
The green flesh, bringing to

His nose and sniffing through
The huge moustache the apple’s
Scent. You stood a little back

Just beside the cans of beer
And bottled wine, watching
His every movement, his hat

And clothes, the way he slowly
Peered about with steady stare,
The hugeness, the larger than

Life just standing there with
One solitary apple held in view,
Offering it outward, saying to

You, take a bite lady, sure
Looks good, tell me what you
Think of the apple’s taste and

Smell and taking the apple to
Your mouth to bite with awkward
Care and looked up to say, it’s

Fine, but he wasn’t there, just
A sense of emptiness with scent
Of apples on the morning air.

Her memories are riddled with holes
from maggots gnawing away
at her already decomposing mind.
Rotting away inside her skull
like teeth soaking in sugar water
and Methamphetamine.

She has a basement filled with flutes
overflowing with year old concoctions
made of emotions and the echoes
of the harpy she once was.
They drip down the sides and pool,
coagulating on the floor like puddles
of dried blood.

Tattered and torn négligées and teddies
are strewn about the bedroom, stained
from the days of lulling men to their deaths,
like a siren on the rocks,
and writing the contract of her own demise
by drowning herself with them.

The lipstick is off.
The eyes of Medusa are closed.
There is no web left to spin.

And as her heart passes back into the abyss
it takes what pieces are left of of it,
an eddy of tiny mirror shards
reflecting the faces of those who once
shown into it and have now faded,
remnants, of its once glorious mosaic.

the night and the frost and the words that they speak
your fingers are frozen, your eyelids are closed
the crests and the troughs of your breath in the air
like the language of winter winds;
harsh tones that never go unheard
beneath your feet or inside your ribcage
or even as the frigid night that entwines itself with you
demanding to be felt

Christ,

I left my head in
the haze of sweeteners

I left my stomach in
An ocean of skimmed milk

I left my faith in
Your warm embrace

I feel a unicorn's horn
Piercing an entire canyon
In my mind

If I have a third eye
Then Christ, it's calcified


(I must purge this curse
Wash it in white dye

I must revitalise
Unless I'll die)

Wasted your life with no satisfaction
Becoming yourself regret but no action
Finding love is easy but no caution
Sit and pray and hope for protection
Heart may broke thats an indication
Be sure to know the correct information                                    
Think about the sky and the power of the creation                          
Feel the horizon as it has no limitation

If I were a bird,
I would follow you
Along the spring of your step
Your hair bouncing when you walk
Notice the things that make you laugh
Hoping my tiny flutters
made you smile
and when you looked worried
or heavy hearted
I would sing you my song
and carry you away

The symptoms on the flimsy blue pamphlet
read more like my own biography.
And the sable gems of your eyes
were spilling over
with an emotion
all but unknown to me.
I felt
dim.

I guess it's my turn
to take a dive into
the little orange bottles.
Maybe this time
I wont resurface.

There's a searchlight in the sky,
Casting watchful
Yet pock marked eye
Upon the weary wanderers
That roam under the light.
Suspect by nature
When you navigate the night.
Guilty by virtue of where you
May retire,
Or not as the case may be.
Under streetlight
I follow foxes.
Or do they follow me?
Among dreams of clocks
And mirrored razor blades
Rusted by the sea.

Shipwrecked at sea, wholly lost
In the green pools of her eyes,
Little oceans reflecting cool stars
And shear, lighted murky moons,
Her branching kelps of hair lashed
Me to the blinding poles of never.
More and maddened she dredged
Me adrift with oceans birds flying,
Fish and tear jerky waves of darkling
Deep maelstrom swells and cresting
*******, the casting lines of thighs,
And curled toes, towing me under,
Till I was sweetly drowning, again,
Lost asunder in her flowing bodies
Of holy well, mystic seas and ocean.