The World
May very will spin out of cycle some day
If the phoenix in its core burns away for good
All of its green will mix with the blue
And create the clay from which we were made
But if Persephone grows back every year
In the form of wheat in an acre of field
How many days
                 And how many weeks
                             Does our planet have left to yield?

Oh, crees tu?

Te consagrare

Estoy sangrando para ti

Oh, eres mio

Estoy muriendome para ti


As Peter stands alone in the battlefield
He prays to God, his only shield
But the shield
Was not blessed

Who will walk by his side
When he marches into the crusade
A King not fit to wear his crown
Who rested on the Judgment Day?

Recuerdas tu?

Los angeles tuvieron

Ojos negros

Oh eres mio

Yo capturare tu aureola

Y la llevare al infierno

Loneliness, as told by Peter
Is an illuminated script
Just worn through years of long stagnation
And hangs upon a crucifix

How does it feel to feel nothing
To strive, to fear, to achieve something
You know will never reach the end
Just darkness around the ******* bend


Oh, yo no creo nunca mas

Yo no te quiero

No tiene sentido

Oh, yo no te adoro nunca mas

Estoy cansado de perseguirte

Y me duelen los pies


And as I grew, I always knew
That I was disillusioned
For footprints never followed me
To Babylon or Galilee

Oh, I betrayed them all three times, three times, three times, three times
While singing hymns and stupid nursery rhymes, rhymes, rhymes, rhymes

About walking with that boy to battle
I saw his flag in the light
And I regret, not being there
To watch the disciples fight

A smile, a smile, a cross, a cross
Across the hill
Towards Paradise Lost

2-3 part harmony:

Part 1: (No te quiero

No, I don’t want you

No te quiero

No, I don’t love you

No te quiero

I don’t want to fight for you)

Part 2:  Paraiso Perdido, Perdido, Perdido
Paraiso Perdido, Perdido….

Part 3: He stands alone in the battlefield…
He stands alone in the battlefield
He stands alone in the battlefield
We all stand alone in the battlefield

Born at the age of sixteen
To again experience the cusp of noon sun
At the bottom of orangeade syrup
Indelible on your tongue, permanent
In a mid-summer twilight
At the touch of sweat skin and wet ears
On maple arms and black foot night
Singing to the will o’ the wisp
(Leather bound a thought
They will read it, perhaps pay
And take pleasure in your hymn
As verse of summer knows the animus
Which lightens the load of e’ryone)

Ineffable are his hands on terra cotta walls
A hot whisper in the ear and cotton lips
Which press the skin on beachy nocturne
To the ocean, the unforgiving expanse
That vomits all my woes
Which I throw back into it
To again experience the cusp of heat
And boiling blood and salty extravagance
The emotion at an apogee
That makes the world a rumination of wonder
(Not to live without fault
But to thrive in its decadence)

The heat of twilight cakes my legs in shorts
On yellow sunspots, glowing in his amber eyes
Soon, to appear on the cusp of gothic moor
During the late ombre effect of dusky sky
When its nighttime cataract reveals, the moon
A pitted moonscape
The moor is silent and whispers to its dwellers
If I were to find him there, in the fresco
Etched into the crystal caverns of night
Would he respond in the marsh
With the crickets between the reeds
Or the owl on the ground mole
As the whispers of naiads?

Yesterday’s gravity

Pulls threads in weaved cloth
Blown and scattering waves
Massive like black holes and small
Like the wings of humming

Birds of Planck length down feathers
On a drifting radiowave
While watching the television in a
Padded

Rooms inside Schrödinger’s box
Contained by hypertension
Like the hairs that grow in fibers of
The cerebrum’s

Neurons which inflate and warp
His hands shook like the rabbit ears
On his old television, wood paneled with
Outdated

Textbooks like his shelves
And enigma is his cited source
In his teleportation box, bedridden
Things in

There are superstrings on the walls
Floating eyes on the atoms of loneliness
Quark fizz, structural quanta on
Yesterday’s gravity

Pulls threads in weaved cloth

Among thee, desperation paints
Sallow cheeks and shaking palms
In the temple in which every child
Consecrates a rebirthing, rejoicing Psalm
Are the steadfast oaths of ages past
Belittled with the present ecstatic gestures?
And upon mine, my chest is pounded
In lieu of papyrus padded scriptures

He walks, the offender, through the halls
While burnt offerings are singed with frankincense
And pulls the steeple’s steel bells
In ode to the sorrowful April shower’s Lent
And finally, the King sits upon his throne
Ad clerum, to the clergy, and nods with respect
When eyed, the child burns inside a dress
Whilst he forgot to genuflect

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming age
In which thine beloved empire crumbles
And the voice of fire breathes out like winter breath
In response to those insidious mumbles
In a world where the ox and *** are slain
For charity to make light of a bleary spring
While He still whispers in my conscience
Still exists their soul in everything

When you reach the crossing of wane and wax
And turn left on the right hand road
A deaf man will be hearing birdsong
And a mute humming sweet song low
Their treble clefts will fill the air
And the sea witch cries of things she lacks
And monkeys swoop from gas lamps above
With treasure on their hairy backs

Ode to open season in the sea
Where mermaids swim to Galilee
Swift red orphans paint the gravel sidesteps
And tornados rip the sky
Shake the Earth like Nephalim
Sing, ye sweet Cherubim
Find tigers in your blind spots
From Bengal rugs and oriental pots
You will find at the market way
Fall deep in love with the sky above
And only whisper during May

The river doves are ripe as rush
The fly fish are all feathered
Come ye faithful denizens to
Discuss the imminent weather
Blithe as nail and smooth as tooth
The Cherokees sear the horse’s tether
And Poseidon’s monsters rush out like flu
To trample all of swan footed you
There is no promise in a word
But crystal chimes and charcoal blacks
So tell the sea witch what you want
When you reach the crossing of wane and wax

In the essence of value, there is much to be said
For a language, words mean nothing
Without their value:
Instead they are letters put together, random and unrandom
As base pairs in DNA
They will unaffect you, unchanged you, uncorrect you
You and your ***** mouth of worthless words
To anybody who doesn’t speak your language

In the essence of worth, there is much less to be earned
For the worth of monetary value  in your pocket is imaginary as well
Just as the meaning of words
It is paper, cloth, the tattered fray of a Goodwill jacket
And until you see those green and red triangles
They are simply paper, and metals, jangling like dreams
Investments made, while rarely is the question asked
Is this all necessary?

In the essence of significance, an object is privately coveted
Your textbooks, your humans, your keepsakes
You pledge to take, when asked, on a deserted island
For this comfort can be found
But starting life in a cell takes but a small electric surge
And you thought it really did take two to tango…
Would you ever believe that it took but electrons?

In the essence of morals, an objection is always remarked
The space between black and white can be filled only
With the value, significance, and worth of piety
But where would we be
Without our reliable instincts
To guide us into the darkness?
As the rebel knows, and the king and the layman knows
From the same faulty conscience breeds the newborns
The identical clones of “should” and “should not”
Which pervade those private imaginings
Of your perfect world
Because why would we bother having those nagging little morals
Without the want to change someone else’s?

My home is but a terror house
Filled with the restless, walking dead
So lost and insecure that I must guide them back to bed
Their eyes are burnt and skin is veined
As the red resin on the gate
And on the stairs
The child stares
Wondering why I stay up to drink so late

She watches smoke curl from the mouth of a plastic gun
Careful now, or the toilet will run
Like the blood trickling down your leg
She said something about a square peg
Or was it a round hole?
Doesn’t matter, my bedroom is dull
And my brain is served fried
Since my favorite actor has died

I have too many magazines and too little space
I love the look of weddings with lace
I am a lamb of summer, my father said
I used to build sandcastles on my bed
Washable school glue stains my dress
As I stand in the pews in my Sunday’s best

Our laughter was loud and our mouths gaped
Her mouth was full with wedding cake
Tumbling out, like white fluffy *****
I looked and saw he was sitting right on it
One night I woke up and was lying in sweat
Turned and saw a boy I’d never met
I grew up and found myself in the same position
Starring at a shelf with my Barbies lined up,
Wearing those colorful gowns, all Special Edition

The night reveals more than just the stars
And moons and worlds and Milky Way bars
For the dark matter as a backdrop to the cosmos
Will one day rip its space-time fleece
But when and where, you’ll never know

Stars are like flowers and warrant no rebirth
From the gaseous remnants light years from Earth
For accretion pulls me in like your nebula cries
At the event horizon of a black hole *****
That gladly consumes my coy little lies

Watch them all burn and fail, once fiery *****
And consummate a lifespan for no reason at all
Churning in a chaotic standstill of time
Those supernova dreams and aspirations
Ultimately useless, but in all ways, sublime

Why do they exist and makes them die?
From the quantum quarks to the red giant eyes
I am searching for answers in an ignorant space
On a planet revolving on separate realities
Revolving on a path with a polluted trace

We sit in circles round an astral plane
Without questioning logic and something to gain
But like a star’s supernova, I’m ready to burst
Return from space and find our sun mid-stellar explosion
Eager to stand up and feel it first

One sits on the left wearing a crown of gold
A young man caught in a decadent whirl
He was jus a boy when his father died
A terrified heir, to soon face a corrosive world

Another sits in the center wearing a crown of thorns
Bandages over his caustic burns
Fated by destiny to take the pain
Too young to fail and too old to learn

The last sits on the right wearing a crown of roses
With red ringed bee stings on her forehead
A banal beauty to be sacrificed
To some new prince’s marriage bed

For the sake of simplicity
She wore a clean cotton dress
That cost a fortune
For the sake of beauty
She replaced her face
And danced like a ballerina
To improve her grace

For the sake of efficiency
He took away their freedom
Unnecessary and unused
Coincidentally constantly abused
And for the father a hospital bed
On his way to work a tragedy hit
Only the President was found dead

For the sake of consistency
They never changed the school’s lesson plans
Although the textbooks were old
The pages were ripped and the school lunches cold
Knowledge doesn’t change but opinions do
So the kids are back home and they sit in the streets
Waiting for tanks to roll over, plaster them to the ground
Like wet paint and crafting glue

Cicadas, always hidden in the tree branches
But always found the next day, dead and grotesque
Hideous, bulging eyes and paper bag crunch of skin
Persistent hissing and disturbed at the close of summer
Lady of the morning and gentlemen of the night
I give you, the all knowing Insect Man
A sideshow oddity, with yellow skin and red eyes of rage
Without a bride to call his own and ashamed to speak
Always bites the hand that cleans his cage

Vibrant antebellum
In the city streets saturates the air
And pulls the attention of children
From the gutters everywhere

Aftermath, aftershock, after the end
Syndrome X inside a plastic cup
Bellicose cries from bleeding sores of media
Shrouded with burqa shadows as a necessary anesthesia

Where is the city and where is the state?
Invisible numbers counted with ink stained thumbs
Delicate piano sound, pale girl fingers
The scent of your fatigue still lingers

I’ve seen many beautiful things
One day, I’ll remember what they are
But for now their faces are stretched like plastic bags
Bound to tear at the bottom and eventually sag

Oizys, son
From behind the leaves, I saw you, trembling
In your presence, your power strengthening
In the empty, midnight parking lot
While the street lights hummed
And moths danced around your illuminated frame
You turned slowly, onyx eyes of shame
And dirtied bare feet, male hair long and white
The street lights flickered when you blinked and cried bitterly
And I saw, for my first time, the eyes of Misery

Achyls, daughter
You were in an empty field
No premonitions did you wield
An ancient silo in the distance
Leaning over a chasm black lamb
Dark skinned, dressed in black robes
With tribal painted face
Digging earthen fingers into its black lace
When you looked up, I saw your cloudy eyes
Churning of a storm, cataract yet wise
Your lamb had absent vapored eyeballs
The Mist of Death made my skin crawl

Hypnos, son
Secluded in a cave by the sea
A silent, empty place to be
While gray waves crash into jetties
The clouds gather in the distance
Poppies at the mouth changing time in an instance
I go in your palace and rub my cold skin
For pulsing blue glows from deeper within
You, a lanky youth, with thick brown hair and heavy eyes
Sit there with a paper mask
Illuminated by the penetrating glow
In the center, surrounded by whale bones
Humming a song I remember fondly
You trapped me in your Dreams, singing lullabies softly

Eris, daughter
Violates a bedroom with utmost hate
There are paintings of kings and statues of satyrs
Pillows of silk and animals on the walls
Usurping the gold clawed palace
Silent but kicking and throwing with malice
With black skin covered in a chalky white substance
I peek through the crack in the mansion’s door
Lips formed in a silent shout, you notice my presence
Naked and bruised and plagued with no voice
Suddenly stops and lays against a ****** wall
Through your electric black hair
And fiery red stare
I witness a Child of Spite
Woman of Strife

Nyx, mother
I am a crawling shadow of trees
And wicked heart of night
I am the wax on the cold leaves
And the glow of the moon’s light

There is something in my eyes
Where tragedy lies, cold and blue
She sits alone in her room
Rolling twine on the floor
Thinking of you

It cannot please, nor fit to ignore
The present problem at hand
The floorboards are sandy and stained brown
Your skin was chalky white
Too weak to sit or stand

You have eyes of a bull, clouded and glassy
We are strangers in our minds
I see you live a dead man’s life
Alive but not living
Seeking ghosts of a different kind

I am a simple rag doll in a barley field
You are an ox of silent depression
There is nothing here inside my hands
For me to give you
Except a blue veined, pulsing confession

I long to tell you stories of Oracles
Break your solid wall of smooth granite
A strong wall you build for all to see
Where I run my hands down
And point out the stars and planets

I remember there was smoke
And green lights
They flashed and flickered and screamed like sirens
Screamed like sirens
In the night

I remember running
Through the streets, long and dark
Each step I approached a place farther yet closer
Farther yet closer
The wheels of bicycles flecked with sparks

I remember moths
They fluttered with hazel eyes and globe eyes
From the fire they sprung and turned into stars
Turned into stars
And ascended to the sky

I remember your yell
It was impossible to hear where
I looked around and saw only lights and smoke
Only green lights and smoke
And burning rubber in the air

Roaring thunder and piercing electric storm
Spiral static for two lovers caught in white noise
Slowly flickering on the television screen
Granulated face, making your arms a pyramid
I will turn you off and pull the plug
What did you say? I couldn’t hear
So all I did was smirk and shrug

He throws down his lightning bolt
In a rage of piercing blue fury
The movement of your eyes makes me weep
Across the gaseous sky that has condemned us
So we hide our guilt in a black shoebox
Waiting for a light to spark the silence
But silence is the orchid struggling to bloom

We sat in the corner, and you held me like a child
When the walls lit up with pulsing light
Like luminous veins glowing in a cavern
Reaching and snaking across the cold walls
It was then when I heard your chest
Sporadic, charged with life
A new battery in your soul
Yet my wires were still a mess

My hand runs down your spine
Smooth, warm, and in a straight line
But we can only ignore it for so long
That the best love is hard love
It includes bloodshed and sore lips
And scathing remarks, when push comes to shove

The Devil is alive
I hear its suffering
Burnt out eyes and vacant lies
Which whisper in my ear
He snakes a hand across the chest
And lies on glowing embers
To writhe like centipedes in Nyx’s hair

He walks into the kitchen at half-past five
And takes my honey jars
With scabbed hands and bleeding tongue
He licks the sides and cap
Transforms into my wildest dreams
And rearing back at ecclesial verse
Lies with me while I nap

When the bodies are buried he returns home
In the sewer marked with rotting pheasant
Three feet in, light fades and dies
But shrieks of anguish always faint
He bids goodbye and leaves me here
To stand in purest morning cold
Still holding crucifix to die a saint

North Star
Guide me to my arcane love
From your ink black empire in the sky
And with ice picked fervor in a freezing body
I will diligently search where the wild geese fly

Cynosura
Snow innate to crystal regions that shine above the fir
Hold secrets in the footprints that lie so far behind
My love is here, the blood’s still wet against the trees
And the heavy blizzard is yet to filter out my cries

Angel Stern
Guide me to the body of my love
Whose life has laid here for twenty years
But I’ll still search if you still lead my wary path
For now I think I am getting close, faithful lodestar
And for once your light shines bright and clear