As cannons’ fire reached the wooden mast,
The captain’s courage, cast outside his soul,
Gone to further islands of abandoned past,
And memories of days that virtue stole—
Wretched moments, unworthy to behold—
At last returned to Captain Arthur’s mind,
Who, with his crew, the end of days declined.

The face of enemies, nor fair nor bold,
But bodies, homes of stubborn death and rage—
Abandoned corpses, young and dead and old—
Had left the ground, forsaken day from age,
And drenched in blood as animals encaged,
In agony beheld the face of death,
And met the night of life’s last lonesome breath.

And once the fire ceased, and ashes rose
To higher levels of the ocean mist,
A solemn silence captured passing woes,
And water rested sound, and silence hissed.
But who was there to suffering resist?
For empty triumph blinds the hearts of men,
But honor mourns and enemies laments.

And Captain Arthur, child of humble deeds,
Had spoken thus—in sight of lives forlorn:
“My trusted men, the valiant don’t succeed
If one sheds blood but won’t for pity mourn,
Now gather thee, and sayeth naught till morn!
To-day we face a tempest, or despair,
To-morrow we shall see the mouth of Hell.”

The sea thus spake of wars and woeful days,
As wind caressed the skin of shriveled men
Who had at last a time to rest and pray,
And think of better days, and live again;
For ghastly passion senses overwhelms.
And in the turn of day, when light was gone,
A peaceful bliss the world had undergone.

The woman of power, of the final hour,
Stood upon the gaping edge of death,
Savoring her final due breath,
Recollecting her spent time, as the demons beneath, did climb.

The woman, once unknown, many must atone,
With a simple display, she tore the lights that held the night at bay,
For nothing as powerful as she, should anyone but agree,
Resting upon her belt, the stars forever dwelt.

The woman, demur of the end, a challenge to death, she had penned,
A game, we shall partake, with eternal lives at stake,
For if I do not wish to die, your purpose, you must defy,
With a stolen piece, her years did increase.

The woman of blackened markings, her mind of ever-workings,
Stood tall upon her mare, chased with twisting white hair,
Upon her belt, rested pouched treasures, glittering fondly with pleasure,
For her company never to shake, as her pale eyes did forever take.

She was the woman of Cree, far beyond The Black Ink Sea,
The taker of stars, leaving naught but empty scars,
She was the winning player of Death's Game, her rewards, to gain,
With the twisting marks of power, deep to the pit, she did glower.

For nothing of its sort,
Shall ever hold her short,
From any a task within her aim,
A woman such as I, victory shall I claim.

And with that thought dancing across her mind,
She leapt, and left the mortal world behind.

The desert gradually turned to a grassy thicket
tamarack branches turn towards the fleeting dusk
above, ancient starlights fade in cimmerian skies
their ghostly glow choked by the sullen silhouettes
of churning charcoal clouds against the abyss.
The world feels as though she is being devoured
by nothing and emptiness.

Again the tortured-self awakes inside of Apricus
wrestling with its bindings merely out of gall.
It elicits ache in the belly of its captor,
the kind that only heartbreak makes inside us all
and once the tantrum cease,
it laugh a little before it speak

The darkness comes, not for you and I alone
but in the end all life is its sacrifice,
why struggle any longer to change the minds of sheep?
Has the battle not hardened our flesh, sharpened our teeth,
has it not made us hungry for what lesser men eat?

A thunderhead above him began to coil
tightening its hold around the moon,
each rotation siphoned the lunar light
till the well traveled soil of the trail
turn to a thin brush, then into a heavy wood.

Ask not if you shall stray from your path
rather ask if you will have the constitution
to find your way back in the black
of a stormy night.

James, you make my eyebrows feel so heavy.
To think: if I never find the one and one make too many empty glasses were broken in the mud-
dled my words when she asked for the time for bed –
All during my morning constitutional.
Take your ***** on the Mount and your Sin of the Farter
Because I know there’s nothing behind the artist except falling towers and furniture-sellers.
But can the deaf still listen?
Or should I care what’s inside a box I can never open?
And how many carriages will follow my coffin
And who will be my wormeaten neighbors
And which tongue will be employed to engrave the epitaph
And topped by what symbol or none?
 
In the beginning the first two words began to breed
And each generation issued reduplication
Evolving vestigial verbiage and new punctuation
All the way down to a young Poet-Hero-Creator:
Use illusory contours to paint the gravity between heavenly bodies, and use
The shared human experience of multistable perception to imply the gestalt of Dublin
(and be sure to use that German term).
We are the artificers of meaning.
 
Item: the location of the key.
Cat: things I should be thinking about but am not.
Item: the *** organs of strangers and acquaintances.
Category: things I should not be thinking about but am.
Item: the autobiographical component of Shakespeare’s later works.
Cat: things I need you to know that I think about.
Item: the possibility that my presence is not nearly as commanding as I’d formerly assumed.
Item: the increasing inebriatory similarities between myself and my father.
Item: the fear of losing my memory of Mother’s face,
as directly correlated to the expanding passage of time.
Cat: things I need you to think I don’t think about, at all.
 
Picture a symphony.
Hold the moment when the lights first fall and the cacophony of tuning
Floods into a single, synthesized vibrating tone. After the silence and before the song.
Write what you hear.
Write the chords in semiotic rhyme; transcribe harmony as memory:
Sing lived and unlived love and stride through on inkblot feet.
Now add the missing notes.

Someone once said,
"Vietnam is
the great, epic poem
of our generation."

The greatest epic poem
ever written about war
is Homer's Iliad.

So I wondered,
which character
would I be?

Agamemnon? Too pompous.
Achilles? Too deadly.
Odysseus? Too crafty.
Paris? Too dishonest.

Hector, of course.

Destined to fight on
in a lost cause;
his death inevitable,
already foretold;
courage in the face
of doom.

Hector. I like that.
It has a bold ring
to it.

Maybe I'll change
my name.

  ~mce

Slay the dragon,
Defend your honor.

Take down the mob,
Restore justice.

Win the fight,
Steal your heart.

Crack ninety minutes worth of jokes,
Break up.

Get back together,
Live happily ever after.

Solve the case,
Lock up ****** killer.

Diagnose patient,
Save your life.
Thank me later.

Jump through wormhole,
Save humanity.
You're welcome.

Phone rings,
Interrupts Epic Tuesday.

I smile,
Hearing your voice.

And just like that,
My life is no longer on pause.

Welcome to my basement
there are plenty of things, toys and tools
play me a song of dismal fools...

You are welcome, but can never leave
I need your parts for the puppets I weave...
It's a place of madness, messes and mayhem
as my machine sews limbs into marionettes...

Dead bodies galore, that I shall resurrect,
as i work diligently to delicately intersect.
drilling holes and threading string
"creep" plays in my mind as I violently sing...

Replacing your eyes with the brightest of blue
wiring your mouth to move on cue.
mechanical hinges and formaldehyde a plenty,
you'll love your new look as will many...

My workshop my joy, my happy place,
except for the stench a horrid disgrace.
look at the walls and all the pretty puppets
lined up in a row like the famed Henson Muppets...

A vast collection of blondes and brunettes
redheads not allowed they're crazy at best.
don't mind the blood it congeals so fast
unlike your beauty it's essence won't last...

You Isabella...
you are my disease, what festers deep inside my thoughts.
if I were to release you from your chains, my mind would run rampant.
you are mine for eternity, I can not allow you the pleasure of another soul.
you will continue to eat with the rats and dine on the cats...

Your torture is my haven, my ******* sickens you, your *** my elixir.
when I put the bar between your legs, and crank so slowly your wetness
my joy, your slice of life my pie...

Your ***** is my God...
To be worshiped by day and eaten at night, devoured like the scores before you.
there is no hell. hell is your common grave, you've yet to visit.
take my **** between your swollen pink lips, take it all leave not a trace.
I shall instill within you a Demon child with a nameless face,
and I will **** your mind, to another place...

Demon qualities live in us all, but only a few return Satan's call.
you're beautiful long brunette hair and gullible goodness is why you are here.
I'm sick, tormented. evil and twisted...a heartless monster.
I am the raw truth of your nightmares...

I will love you forever in my own way, you are not a prisoner but in your mind.
it is a ***** such as yourself that may someday free me of my Demonic being.
but in the mean time, I shall kiss you between your thighs making you ***
and drink from your hive...

You wicked *****, you stink of filth, your matted mane I can not bare
my love for you, you dare not share,
your dark brown eyes will be my demise, above your hatred you shall rise.
take me now deep inside, for my *** will turn the tide...

You are not a slave of love, but the guest of a mastermind shunned from above.
you are not my toy, but a precious womb, a cradle of sorts for my young.
you'll be the heroine that goes unsung...

~Just for a Moment~

There she stands in the doorway again,
her beautiful silhouette highlighted against dim moonbeams.
like I've seen her look so many times before.
her ******* as hard as stone visible through the sheer magnificently beautiful
Victoria's secret silk teddy...

"Come to me my love It's Valentines day"
she came to me, slowly, methodically, gliding across the floor like the Greek Goddess
of love, even Aphrodite herself should be so beautiful...

"Sit besides me on the bed"
she took my hand, and I pulled her lovingly on the bed, "you've been a bad girl my queen, looking all **** for me" I kissed the corner of her pretty mouth and stood her besides me.

I bent her over my knee and watched the teddy raise up hey back, I massaged her
lower back and slid my fingers underneath the lace of her pretty *******.
I proceeded to grab a handful of heaven and tenderly squeezed...

And then to my excitement they appeared again...those beautiful white wings,
the same softness I lose myself in after our love making.
I slapped her *** and slapped it again, she began to whimper and I slapped it again, her whimpering making me stir in all the right places...my heart falling into the abyssal pit of my stomach.

I reached between her thighs and under her *******, and lost a finger deep inside her beauty. she moaned and pushed against my hand.
I reluctantly removed my finger and tasted her essence.
why do I do this to myself I thought.

I stood her before me and rose off the bed...our lips meeting and our tongues dancing a deep, slow dance into lost oblivion. our eyes met and as always
her beautiful green eyes with tangents of gold melted me where I stood...
I felt my legs tremble...

I stood her at the side of her bed and gently bent her over pushing her head into the quilt,
she gasped...knowing what was to come.
I dropped to my knees and spread her *** cheeks to delve into her beautiful warmth
kissing her outer lips and driving my tongue deep inside her.
I grabbed her hips and spun her around, ******* slowly and then feverishly on her swollen ****...I could no longer hear her whimpering over the throbbing heart beat in my ears...

I spun her around again, and returned my tongue home, a home I adored.
then it came, she pushed back into my mouth hard, and came in my mouth,
Oh my...I love when she does that...

With her head back into the quilt I stood behind her, my **** in hand and rubbed it up and down the most beautiful ***** I have ever seen..
I teased her entrance with the head of my **** just a bit...and eased into her feeling her stretch and accommodate my thickness.
I was ******* her slow and deep, just as she likes, feeling her meeting my thrusts was so hot I thought for sure I was on fire..
Our rhythm increased as well as my pulse...I wanted this feeling to last forever...and I unleashed storm of *** inside my beautiful girl...so deep, it will still be leaking into her pretty ******* tomorrow.

her gorgeous wings, swept back against my skin,
and then...just for a moment....I thought I saw God....

(c) Michael Gagain/Black Reign