Vespertine, fatal dream
Mistress conjuring shapes of night
Seventeen little fiends
Elegy for a demon’s plight


Alone in my study, sitting
before a roaring fire
Visions so ******
they churn desire

With the dead of night
summoning hellish zest
They come to incinerate
my corrosive flesh

The hymns of *St. Lazarus beckon solace
from the cathedral outside
But I linger here in the bowels,
where my ancestral sins reside

Animistic stares gazing through
these dead-soul dreams
Where another horror story is not
always what it seems

Portraits of deceased queens
looked down at me with blackened eyes
Layers of muffled screams
festered while judging my vacant lies

Years before, my grandmother watched
over me as a boy in his bed;
Endless, ambiguous rhymes of prayer
are what she often said.

She promised to ban the spirits
that steadily linger
But dark twisting hands
outreached and took her

The monsters and invisible abominations
have always been here
Following my whereabouts,
watching me year after year

Subtle ghosts keeping my heart
and house cold
I sat and waited for what my
icy breath foretold

The dreams, the demons, the ghosts
all that severed me
From experiencing the love of flesh
I so forever longed to see


Came the hour the church bells rang and tolled


The dread of things to come
The moans and cries had begun

From lissome shadows and corridors
Like Charon beating souls with oars


Creeping evil fled
to the refuge of my home
To reap the sins
that my family had sewn

The rippling, screeching strings
of a malevolent orchestra
Scored and produced themes
worthy of infernal Sumatra

The flames in the fireplace
surged a green incendiary wall
From the hell mouth jaw emerged
a dark figure I saw.

Mother Mephistopheles,
            clad in silvery pieces with a pale face
            Manifesting atrocities, her emerald eyes
            welcoming our embrace

I backed away from the sights in,
my trance lost in her glimmer
But the noises and choir peaked
in a swarming fit for a sinner

In a gush of surrounding ash, Father Selaphiel materialized
The otherworld lovers reunited,
their bond revitalized.

“We come unto thee, Son of Faust, heir to Blake.”
They said in unison like a choral demon snake

“Create a fleshling worthy of a child, of many in one
So the deeds of your family’s sins can be undone.”

I stared at the figures with execrable bewilderment
Fearing my sanity had seeped through my temperament

They threaten my eternal existence with continued torment
A living anguish that would solidify my hell-bound descent

“What must be done?” I asked these surrogate advisers

And they instructed
A body made from flesh and metal
Of dead and living components
Blessed and cursed
From God and Satan
Men and creature
Using their collected powers
to merge with the night
I swept across the villages
and cities to obtain the materials
Now all these years, I’ve wondered
Why my medical expertise had been put to waste
“Did the demons prevent me?” I pondered
“Or did they aid me?” I concluded in my haste

Innocent or not, I claimed what I needed
To rid myself of the terrors deep-seated.

A steel-woven chest piece
and half-incinerated cadaver
Twenty feet of large intestines;
boys, girls didn’t matter

Shelled-out cranial cavity
with cerebral cortex to match
Mixing bladders and gallbladders
worth its catch

Punctured spleens and insolent creams
Circulatory, digestive, endocrine,

Iron bones, infused tendons mount
Smells and rancid odors spilling out

Guts, pus, worms and maggoty brains
Boiling in holy water with dried remains

Sacks of chain mail and velveteen potions
Seething concoctions conflate emotions

Patches of caustic skin made like adamant leather
Bolted with steel fingered brutally severed

Into gauntlet armor, this mechanized abomination
Personifying my sickened, wailing degradation

I showed Father and Mother my life’s work and creation
A flesh-iron shell waiting, they stood with appreciation

“Vespertine…” they called to the collage of my work
They petted its face while the shadows continued to lurk

Seventeen little fiends and creatures
appeared and surround
The moon shined through the glass
and the room around

The Seventeen shadow children became smoke and entered the monster
Now a being both ethereal and corporeal

My sins and demons locked in my own creation
Mother Mephistopheles and Father Selaphiel
Left Vespertine in my care

All that plagued me
All that haunted me

Personified, solidified
And barely alive.

My half-dead servant.

and Halloween child

Walking back onto the street around nine O’clock
Pizzerias, Clubs and white guys with dreadlocks
Moving like sea urchins with an urge to mock
Hey 2 for one at Roxy’s for black rubber *****

I’m carrying two bags of groceries; One with a pie
There are no stars in the city. Just the moon in the sky
I move lazily and tired as evening joggers pass by
“God I wish I was more active.” I say with a sigh.

I ascend the stairs because the **** elevator is broken
One flight. Two flight. ******* wood surely is oaken
2 minutes of climbing the obstacle that’s unspoken.
I suffer for being the Asian, the part-Korean token.

I reach my apartment, music playing through the wall
I feel worn out and about ready to fall
But I walk in and proceed, feeling anything but tall.
The time has come. I walk to the kitchen from the hall.

I live with three roommates: Sam, Dean an Owen.
Sam is shut in his room. He’s a DJ and I think Samoan
Dean is weird. Don’t ask about flagellated protozoan
And Owen is a reader and blogger. Just plain Owen.

I place the groceries on the counter, I stumble.
Owen is reading and I hear him mumble
“Did you say something?” I grumble
“Wrong Pie.” He says, his words fumble.

“What?” I don’t understand

   “Wrong pie.” Owen says again.
I point towards the pie on the table. “What, this?”
    “Yeah.” He says.
    “What’s wrong with it?”
    “Everything.”
    “Like what?”
    “Well, it’s the wrong pie.”
    “How?”
    “It’s apple.”
    “Yeah, so?”
    “But I thought you were going to get cherry?”
I shrug my shoulders, “Yeah but they were out.”
    “Where did you go?” Owen asked, but he knew.
    “Just that corner market.”
    “Well why the hell did you go there, you know they don’t have **** there.”
    “Does it matter?  I got most of the things.”
    “Yeah, most.  Not all.  You didn’t get the right pie.”
    “Does it matter?” I tell him. Owen closes his book.
    “I think so.”
    “At least I got a pie.  You guys said, ‘Hey man, make sure you get a pie’. You didn’t say get a ******* cherry pie!”
    I try to calm down, but the blasting of dubstep remixes warp my thinking process.  Owen leaves the kitchen and knocks on the doors. He tells them I’m back and that I ******* up the groceries.
“I did no such thing!” I yell, “You ***** think you told me what to get but you’ll all too into yourselves to ever know what the *******’re saying and you come off as ignorant over-privileged *******! Yeah Owen you’re so unique” I mock sarcastically, “Must be why you dress exactly the same as every other hipster here, going online and vlogging about the same **** a 12 year-old in suburban America would talk about and his ***** probably haven’t even dropped.”
    Owen’s eyes are wide, never seeing this side of me before. Sam and Dean open their doors to see all the commotion.
I walk back in to the kitchen and grab the pie.
    “Here *******!” I toss the pie as hard as I can so it hits the ceiling. The tin tray falls to the ground and the apple crusted pie is splattered, stuck to the ceiling like an IKEA fan made of butchered apples.
    I open the door.  “Dubstep is just edited noises of transformers having ***!”
I slam the door and leave, walking back downstairs and onto the street


Roommates ******* ****. I was tired of their **** and rules.
They used me for their homework, Working me like a mule
I’m barely able to pass my classes, let alone graduate from school
So trivial to help them just to earn my cool.

I flipped up my hood and rushed through the streets
I didn’t know where I was going, I didn’t care who I’d meet
A slice from Death Metal Pizza, a drink from Fat man Pete.
I need to let loose. Relax and take that invigorating leap.

I stumbled upon an old movie theater, playing classics, new and old
“I want tickets for all the shows.” To the box office I told.
I bought popcorn and milkduds. I think my chair had mold.
And watched as Al Pacino was out of jail; being paroled.

Carlito’s Way, then intermission
A glimmer of previews then Pulp Fiction.
Ezekiel 25:17 and blasts of omission
From Jules’ and Vincent’s handgun ammunition  

After the credits roll I get three hot dogs and a large soda
Next movie: The Evil Dead, enough to put me in a coma
AH ******* demons Killing like the cancer of lymphoma
Scaring me and making me spill my watered-down cola.

Next was the Monty Python to ease the chills
Ensuring talking fish, puking and hilarious thrills
I really enjoyed the collective animation stills
I was relieved from the films and I had my fills

Now I had a good place to come and let loose, relax and laugh
And I wouldn’t have to display my clustered, boiled wrath
To my ******* roommates. Maybe I’ll move out on their behalf
We’ll see how it plays out. I’ll write a “*******” graph.

But thanks to them I found a new way to survive
Which is better than the alternative; a desperate suicide
Watching movies late at night is better for me than to die
All ascertained from the incident of the wrong ******* pie.

Lucid, abusive
Tongue in cheek divine
Stupid, elusive
Lost soul of mine

A snap of orchestral fingers to summon the suave illustrator
Mohawk punks and minions to smash the limp masturbator

Loveless, acquiesce
Arpeggio flutter ripples
Convalesce, Fancy dress
******* with perky *******

One or two drinks, make it three then five
Keeping the blood warm and love alive

Visceral, peripheral
Dark raven hair
Liberal, scriptural
I couldn’t even care.

I adored her all, her everything, her gleaming demeanor
The subtle wink of her eyes, the glow; even greener

Exotica, ex machina
Street amazon of desert glass sand
No drama, rural karma
Flesh sweating like the heat of Sudan

Dead singers like Cole and Morrison sing of paper moons and Crystal Ships
The mixed CD segues to U2, Pulp, and then a full disk of The Flaming Lips.

"Nightingale", minor scale
The saxophonist played under the street lamp outside
Folktale female
“Another drink?” she abides, two glasses and wine supplied

On her balcony we watched and listened, to the call of urban passion
The wordless music we adored, a testament to our mutual attraction.

A satisfied appetite is a simply joy

Overlooked and simplified

Like a growing urge, a salivating need

That is entrancing and glorified.



Everlasting for moments we call meals

Forgotten in time, lingering above

But the taste, the lonesome lover pushed aside

Gazes afar and near wanting to be enjoyed again



The young lady with a tongue of raspberry delight

And the matured widow with darkened cacao lips

Ripening nectar of a sliced peach center

Halved and topped with mascarpone crème



The man with a skin of caramel glaze

Caressing and savoring

With a fragrance and scent

Of hazelnut coffee indulgence and sin



In the pursuit of a brief love affair

What oral sensation did my taste buds want?

My odyssey of gustatory endeavors await

Through the seas of lined people and waiting staff



Generous portions and humble pies

Decadent desserts so rich you’ll die


Vine cherry tomatoes sliced and sauté

Over al dente rigatoni in a roasted cashew sauce

A robust aroma and savory appeal

Basil leaves with garlic strips

Olive oil to top the surreal


Hubristic meatball aborigine  

Elysian cuisine or many dreams


Teasing the senses, warming the pit

Of flowing pleasures

And tingling fingertips

Without moral measures

And succulent wines

Rotisserie lamb falling of the bone

Seasoned with Sicilian herbs

And paired with broiled asparagus

Drizzled with lemon juice


And a glass of Merlot

Spices I hardly know



Lachrymose apologies beside a bottle of faded sorrows

With love there is pain, passion endured through the names

Thin soups, flavorless and dull, feeding street-thrown bums

Breathing hard against the delicatessen glass


Hickory smoked hams, pepper-seasoned pastrami

Vinegar cultured pickles and hard dried salami


Unpleasured, without measure, at one's leisure.
Forever my endeavor

Blackcurrant tea laced with slivers of gooping honey
Layers of cinnamon hair atop olive skin

red-painted doors with cedar trim
crushed almonds mixed with hazelnut butter cream spread

devilish rounds of crumbling ***-swirl bread

Smells and wonders, tastes so ...

oh god

Divine and sublime.

Adamant, nocturnal dalliance
Egregious, insidious, velvet ambiance

An unyielding, dark but brief love affair
The flagrant, seductive and comely au pair

The Eclectic, unmatched, Androgynous Circus
Red devils, black sheep and felines in service

Contortionists, gypsies, and malevolent magicians
All twisting to a dance played by faceless musicians

A night in Tunisia or a place above the Siene
Where else but all in the shadows of dreams?

Enchanted, redolent wonder of festive illumination    
Her eyes absorbed, glimmering in the lush captivation

Enveloping, engulfing silk around our bodies
Days, nights measured by tragic commodities

Arpeggios, rippling across glistening string inventions
Bowing cellos; cellists bowing with audience permission

Masks, costumes, carnivals and the golden mirror
Cerulean dripping limbs that slither while near her

The alabaster piano played by a three-armed puppet
The statues turn and welcome us for a crumpet

Maria Callus sings Ave Maria backwards then stops
The statues and demons laugh while playing with props

“This requiem for the living, begins with a kiss”
The statues said in a tone of voice I could not resist.

“Our overture shall be a ******, a nail in the coffin; a death.
All while you swallow the nectar on your lover’s last breath.”


Needles protruded my head
And I watched as my love was torn
Limb from limb
While the jackals and ballroom guests
Fornicated on the spilled blood and guts
I cried and they cheered as the lights dimmed
For All I could see was the sight of them leave
Into the darkness.
But the noises were as loud as ever as hands
And digits groped my body.
Moaning voices and rhythmic thrusting
And tongues in my ear
And teeth gnawing on my neck
Pain felt, endured, experienced
Then
I was released into the middle of the scarlet draped room
When the phlegm of ****** fluids whipped into a dried crust

A sharp edge stabbed me in the back of the neck
Running along my back, through my spine, down my skin and ending in my ******.
Mechanical hands ripped apart my skin  
I slid out of my flesh like a serpentine ******.
I stood there
shaking from the excruciating, unfathomable pain
the grid and design of my muscular system bare and seen.  

From the pieces of my departed lover,
the master with the many mechanical hands
slathered the slips
and sleeves of her skin onto my own.

Needles and thread went to work.
The puppet master sewed.
The healing plasma
the drying blood
the encapsulating tears lubricated my whole

Once he was finished, I was dunked into a pool of clear gelatin.

For hours I soaked and became whole again.
Then I rose and I was dressed
the finest garments, from across the globe.
I sat once again at the table where the statues invited me.
The musicians, the magicians, the demons, gypsies, masks and serpents
Watched and gleamed
while I sipped my tea

I out spread my fingers.

Layers of skin and stitches

No more hair.
No more nails.
Not just a regular face
but one all shall remember.

I was born as one

Then made from many

In the imminence of zealous devils in my wake
Of the attrition I have forsake

Now as the curtain rose and the spider-silk strings hoisted me up on stage
The master showcased my story to all whoever wished to engage

“Adamant, nocturnal dalliance
Egregious, insidious, velvet ambiance

An unyielding, dark but brief love affair
The flagrant, seductive and comely au pair

The Eclectic, unmatched, Androgynous Circus
Red devils, black sheep and felines in service

I am Vincent Andromeda
Your Strangelove phenomena.”

On a night like this, of full-moon bliss
Of the midnight winds and collecting mists
I remained, forevermore
Chained, to the floor
A victim of joy’s…goodbye kiss

In a dungeon I lie, hidden from the sky
A shadow untamed with vile red eyes
I waited, I hungered
Without proper slumber
In my mistress’ pit, awaiting time

It was from lust and desire to fuel and empower
For whom she wishes for me to devour
I restrained, she teased
I grew hard, to please
The widowed Countess: my dark sire.

Though my story may seem bleak
But not to those, whom morally weak
A tale, a fable
However which label
Entitles this to civilized freaks

I moved from town to town, home to home
In search of a life wherever I would roam.
At last, I came
To an estate of name
Belonging to a Countess of ancestral Rome

Countess Donatella, eyed my work and demeanor
From afar I could tell, I sensed, I smelled her
Her scent, so tempting
Was she attempting…
To allure my beastly form into something beneath her?

One night she called for me, alone in her quarters
She treated me to delicacies from rich exporters
She asked my name
I said none, I refrained
“Mysterious and Strong.” She said in order.

She walked over, to the silk on the bed
Colored in gold and shimmering red
Curling her finger
To me, and eager
“Remove your clothes” the Countess said

I did as I was told. I abide her command.
She seduced like a mistress of the eternally ******
Caressing my skin
Licking my chin
And instructed me to please her demands.

My strength increased as I ripped apart her dress
“Yes, my dear, rough and brute.” She stressed
My *** throbbing
Her head bobbing
She turned into an animal I could not resist

Through the night our lust ignited
Into a furious intoxication, organs united
A symphonic ******
Winds, rain and thunder
Matching the sweltering copulation benighted

In the glow of after, past the ****** she gathered
Breathing deeply she said, “You are mine. I am master”
For too long, I thought
I was ridden of what I sought
One to counter my thirst for lust, the tiring caster.

For many nights I swooned, I pleasured her in ways
No other human could fathom or reclaim
My art was of the flesh
And her succulent *******
Feasting like the dog of Hell’s fame

But in this time I feared
For my secret was severe
To show, to hide
My inner design
Of nocturnal savagery that is devilishly revered.

It was upon a warm night of *******
That the moon left me horrified and shaking.
I ran from the master
To evade disaster
Of displaying my transformational awakening.

I trampled in the woods and screamed into the night
The beast of the void howled under the moonlight
I ventured, I hungered
Awaken from slumber
A slave to Lycanthrope, a feral disease of might

The Countess’ workers hunted; “A monster!” they deemed
But I killed many before I was to be seen
Ripping, tearing, slashing, eating,
Guts, bones, skin, feeding
My viciousness, my curse, my bane and dream.

After my episode of moral slaughter
The workers found me curled in a fetal posture
I would have been killed
But the Countess, sealed
Me away in the cryptic tomb of her father.

I was left to suffer in the underbelly of my sins.
Shadows and demons moaning like the wind
My master kept me
Protected me
In her care I would no longer win

Now I lay, waiting for the my master to show
So the door above me will open and glow
The white orb
That will mourn
The lives I have taken, eaten and in my intestines flow

The tomb dungeon unlocks, creaking loudly with rust
The master, the beautiful Countess that I must
Please and satisfy
Penetrate, rectify
The punishment that was bestowed by the just.

“So you are known by many names.” She utters
I look up at her with eyes of thirst, my lover
“You are unique.
So much to keep
For myself, my beastly treasure and no other.”

She walks to the shadowed wall and pulls down a lever
And stands in front of me, **** and forever
A pale seductress
Her eyes focus
With mine, for I wait for the power that was severed

“Now I will be pleasure by that of a beast, that of a god.”
She says as she massages my erecting rod
“Now, my dear.”
As I hear.
“Enter me and leave me in pleasurably awe.”

With the chains around my wrists, ankles; my neck and waist
She mounts me in the moonlight space
Our sweat collects
Drips and specs
Glossing her pale skin and my ever changing face.

I stare into the moon as I ******, my moans of pain matching her voice
She yells from the seismic endurance, her dooming choice
To unleash my monster
With blood thirst conquered
No, it is not, it is her, growing with every other screaming voice

Moans of pleasure soon turn to moans of distress
The wolf of the night is coming, no less
My teeth protrude
My mind feuds
With reason and passion, where blood replaces the mess

My fur is black, my claws like steel
My fury is lustful, the deeper I feel
The Countess is in fear
I ignore her tears
And devour her, ravish her, take her skin and peel

Her lovely face is first to go, once flawless now disfigured
I tear her arms from her body, her liver in my teeth lingered
Blood, tears, flowing juices
Guts, gore, nail amuses
The laughing jackals and demons in a Hell for me that’s bigger

There is no more Countess. No more Donatella, nor master
The moon reflected in a red pool of suffering disaster
Of the ******* monster in our wake
Of the true one she had forsake
In the whims of lustful pursuit with death proceeding faster

Through the lubrication of excessive blood and ****** fluids
I slipped and broke from my chains and fled from the ruins
I remained the beast
Through the forest at least
And return to the woods, away from the her influence

I left the Countess estate as I arrived
Homeless wanderer who survived
Another full moon night
And devil’s sight
Of my life forevermore, the way of the morally derived

Where my nightmares are revived …

…Beyond my human disguise.

There are moments in life
Experiences
Where the minutes feels like hours
The days feel like years
The weeks
A lifetime
Looking up at the sky
Or the clock in the watershed
While it was done to you
To me
The strangling, the fighting
The crying, screaming, tossing and turning
Over and over again
They say it’s the last time
That they’ve changed
Born again
But
No
It’s not true
And here they are again
The daddy and the mommy
Names given to flesh-tearing monsters
And lusting jackals
Gleeful devils and
Shadows on the wall
Laughing and *******
Pulling knives and nails form their womb
To bury us in an keep us there
Fiends wrapping themselves in avarice
And sweltering babes roasting over the iron fire
Where fingers and tongues push and pull
Your insides
Thrusting and moaning to weekly
Mixed tapes and infomercial gurus
Batting eyes to static gods and god haters
Feasting in my tears
For the last time before my very own fingers
Become jagged spears and
Raging teeth
To pull apart the wolf in sheep’s clothing
Jerking his **** over your face and whispering
Bibles verses to an invisible
Congregation
Who holler and praise
The almighty lord
Who watches over us and
Places bets with the Devil in the aftermath of
Melting, dissolving, sacred bond
That is till death does them part
In sickness or in health
With broken bottles, wheel jacks
Kitchen blades, handguns, bare-knuckle fists
And those friends wonder why
Why I’m alone and
Why I can’t do the same things they do
Speak the way they speak
Understand what is so easy for them
School is a foreign concept that plagues our life
Its mere system mocks us
Saying I’m
We’re different, special, needed attention
Counselling, treatment, guardians
Medications.
Lost
So lost are they
For not seeing the truth
But the lies are more convenient
To the slothful ignorant
The fearful cowards
Wrathful misguided
Wrongful accuser
Lustful solicitor
All groping, kissing, grabbing
Slapping, hitting, tearing, bleeding
*******, licking, copulating
Red-eyed mongols throbbing over and
Drooling and spitting
Beating and killing
Flinging bodies against the wall and
Smashing the heads of children over the
Burning bridges of sycophant minds
Taking away the innocence
Laced with birth
Where our loveless bodies harden
And become blank and
Emotionless
And see the painted veil
That hid the original art
Of the first painter of the sky


The thing about being suicidal is,
No one knows you are till you’ve already done it.

And people say those who off themselves are selfish
When all they want is a release.

They still love you,
And are assured others love them.

But it’s not about love.
It’s when vengeance and fate aren’t enough

When tears dry up

And distress runs it course

Sweltering insurgencies of electric power chords
Tribal reverberations of skin-stretched drum boards
Rolling and filling; syncopating the noise
Of the ***-less toys
The ****-less boys
Enraptured in the music
The anthem
Of invidious phantoms
My eyes hurt inside and
I want to pull them out and
Scrape out the gunk and rust
that’s behind my self-indulgent perseverance
so I can cry
for the first time in years…

Wrapping my hands around his slender torso
Licking away the paint, the dripping ooze; more so
Than hastening my ****** and mordant urges
To bite what emerges
And my mouth purges
The obelisk from underneath
The iron-pierced jester
The voracious molester
My hand tightens as I grip
his throat tighter and
I want to squeeze until his eyes pop
from his sockets and
laugh until I puke against the walls,
watching the ****** fluids mix
like an execrable marinara sauce…

I turned thirty while still being sixteen
The vivid beauty of the world was only in dreams
But none of mine, none that I can recall
Many years have passed since I took the oral fall
Where no one saw
Intransigent need to live
For the snake in my veins hungered for more
So many had their way
until I was limp and sore.
Defamatory fingers of mire and strife
Probing and stretching
My insides
And devilishly comforting
With limpid ambrosia
That’s infected by bilious worms and maggots covered in icing
And fruit

Amatory gauntlets fastened and secured over
Handless limbs that retract under matriculated frictions
That fracture, crack, morph, distort
Emphasize, marginalize
Rationalize, desensitize
Acts of *******, evasion, moral drainage;
Pieces, bits, chunks, sections, portions, servings;
Arms, legs, eyes, tongues, fingers, toes,
Love, lust, infatuation
Adoration
Boys, girls, women, men,
Angels, demons, monsters, humans
Creators, gods, titans, divas
All extended and limited from the minds that worship
Sanctify, mesmerize, glorify, rectify
While humans eat more, love more, **** more
Than the angels, demons, monsters, and titans
We ponder and cherish
Nevermore, for me
Ever lore, for all
Crows surround
And chaos found.

The silent planet of crystallized dreams

Nebula clouds emitting translucency

Nothing is ever what is seems

With God’s touch and delicacy



The song that remains and forever played

Amongst the promised womb before

The mother goddess loved and swayed

While the child watches from the hallway door



“Mother and father copulating with the door open.”

Read the words on the off-white typewriter paper

The boy tedious and tired, working and hoping

His work be acclaimed before meeting his maker



Telling stories of psychopath magicians in Long Island

Or Chicago lawyers fighting underground matches in drag

“A disturbing, fantastic point-of-view, from a ****** man”

Said one critic before nitpicking as reading a greasy pulp mag



Countless images worth their weight in gold

Majestic ballrooms ravishing supple choirs

Groping masked ballerinas with a urge so bold

Witty fops and serving props aiding proper sires

Sir Xavier proclaiming the night as a celebration

Showing sharpened teeth behind his mask

The shadows merging and demonstrating mutilation

With enough wine to soak, bathe and bask



The man breathed in exhaustion. He cracked his fingers and wrote:



“Circles of Blood, of **** and pain.

    Audacious institutions praising the Goat Head of Fame

                    Vicious clowns of chains and leather sought to cleanse the mind

                             The flesh and struggle that was kindled at the discovery of Gabriel’s find

                                      Stiffening, hardening clay over roots and glands

                                      The skin of earth ravaged from birth

                                      Yes men and polished conveyor belt twins

                                      Nodding, prodding and smirking

                                      Evicting and molesting the commonwealth

                                      The taxpayers and voters

                                      The people, new and old

                             Sewing fishing line into us

                   Like strings to puppets

          Severing wings

Denying us flight

          Expecting us to fight

                   With blank expressions

                             And

                   Collective motives

                             Because we should all think the same

                                      While in the jungles of Vietnam

                                                The cities of Korea

                                                          Deserts of Iraq

                                                                   Caves of Afghanistan

                                                                             Or

                                                                   Anyplace our leaders

                                                          Mispronounce

                                                What is to gain if not

                                      Something profitable?

                                                Thieves condemning thieves  

                                                Murders judging murders

                                                Psychopaths killed for killing

                                      Women ***** and thrown into a

    guilt trip for not keeping a child that

    was forced into them, saying the

    will of God is infallible.

    Children without homes suffer for what they are

              While more populate the world with their own

              Before helping the needy


The names of the world

          The foundations built upon on another

The empires envisioned and dreamt

          Destined for glory and prosperity

Then torn down in the cataclysmic volley of change

          Then the cycle, the circle, is repeated again

          This is how the world functions

In the name of one

Or many

Or God

Or even the Gods

The Circles, the rings and arena.”





The man wrote with the typewriter on top of books and clippings

Watching riots outside his window, bottle of liquid fire exploding

Screams of terror, of revolt and damnation drippings

Calling out for all to see, the fury and loathing



What the man wanted to write was a simply story to tell

But his rising emotions took hold of his fingers

Instead, he told a story of malicious passivity in living hell

Where in his room the fumes of gas lingers



What if on other places in space

Where we’ve discovered other Earth-like planets

God Created different forms of humans

And watched how they grew

In their own way

Eliminating one previous flaw from the next

Till there was no conflict



If he did and kept doing that

Till he had the perfect human

Then there would be no more

And just God again.

Mystic moons and puppy dragon tales
Silver oceans with crystal silk sails

Frozen lakes above the stone angel choir

Marble pianos soothed by fingers of fire

Pearls falling
on the stone steps outside
Neon lights reflected
in the rain puddles
“Bang, Bang” Nancy Sinatra sang
“I shot you down…”
The music faded as I walked away
Movie posters lined the brick walls
Framed lovers embraced
One another
Between frozen portraits
Of atomic monsters
And art house flicks
While looking away at the box office girls
Slender and fixed
Up for the customers
And troubled youth;
Their tenacious allure
for a requiem
for the living
Cathedrals replaced by tower records
And Chinese restaurants
Withering, zealous loan sharks
Feasting on squished dreams
Licking their teeth with their tongues
Smacking against the laughter
Of festering sodomites and
Plastic-injected food
Basking in pools of molten gold
And sliced actors
I was in the middle of this
Me
Enforcing the invisible layer
Of success in the city of Angels
Where demons of entertainment
Pull the strings
Like Bela Lugosi said.
Moving through the Hollywood hotel
I hear moaning voices
Creaking beds
Loud televisions
Shouting and blaring beats
I open room 314
And walk in
The wallpaper peels like a corrosive blister
Mr. Poe sits at his desk
Waiting for me
He pours a drink
I abide
He passes me an envelope
I feel its thickness
I open it up and flip through
The bills, placing it in my inner pocket
I nod and swallow the bourbon
And leave
What pulp magazines tell you
Of the underbelly
The style, the glamour
The women, the one-liners
And thrills are replaced by
Shattered morals
Broken bones
***** stained stool pigeons
Slaughterfest racism
Taxi backseat *******
Where joints and blood
Spent napkins, clean the mess
Of the seats.
Through clubs and social abundances
I find coked-up fiends and producer hugging
Sycophants.
Laughing, smiling, drooling, kissing
Any who will profit
Able to get in line
To be the next big thing
On the silver screen
Or at the bottom of the sea
Under
Santa Monica pier
Watching the group of
Empty flattery, heartless groping
I follow and keep my distance
3 hours later
I knock on their fancy hotel suite
Just when the door unlocks
I push it through
And pull out my gun
They scream but they know
Who I am
And who I work for
I instill fear back into their
Comfortable lives.
They have debts
They own their luxury to to others
That was the price
They sold their souls and bodies for fame
And they will all eventually pay
I remind them what could happen
I shoot through the mirrors and glass
I pick one up and dangle them over the balcony
I find one member of the social party who does not belong
Who is not worth any thing
Who is expendable.
I grab that one and exercise my warning
My superior’s warnings
I bash his skull on the ikea coffee table
I pick up the vase of flowers by the side
I dump it all over him
I pick one white rose and
Dip it in the collecting blood
And watch it stain the flower
I lift it up and show it to the room
Still eyes and sweating faces look at it;
At me and what I represent:
A winning hand
A knock-out punch
Wrath personified
Callous, methodical, professional, indifferent
Mr. Libestraum is who I work for
Mr. Schyman is what I go by.
My point is made and I leave them with the body
I walk out and call my people
My part is done.
I walk out unnoticed and paid
Pay a vendor for coffee
Sit along the bench and wait for the sun to rise
On a new day.
And think back to what I was told when
I saw my first hit,
“Welcome To LA.”

Sometime ago, years as it would seem
I saw the devil in my room
He was sitting there in the corner watching me
And I didn’t know why

He sat with pus-filled eyes and patchy skin
He sat naked holding a can of black spray paint
I was nine
It felt like it could have happened yesterday
But it was some time ago, years as it would seem
Since the devil visited me and it wasn’t a dream


He didn’t talk to me; he remained still and quiet
I was afraid but then I wasn’t
I went to bed and he tucked me in
And I didn’t know why

He placed his fingers to my lips, gesturing to be silent
I obeyed and watched as he walked to my door quietly
It was 9pm
But it felt much later in the night
When the Devil paid me a visit in my home
Killing my family and leaving to roam.


Before he left he showed me my mother, on the ground
My father in the bath
My sisters, in pieces in the sink
And told me to embrace the moment

“You never knew it, but these people didn’t love you”
He told me soothingly, “They wanted to hurt you”
It was December 9th
But it felt like October, as he sprayed the number on the walls
“Are you the devil I asked?” Tears ran down my eyes.
“Yes.” He said, “I’m your liberator.” He advised.


I never saw the Devil like that again.
I left my house and told the neighbors.
And the police came and took me away
I never said goodbye to those who raised me

I was raised by an uncle until I was eighteen
Then I left to become more than what I was
I had always wondered if I would see the Devil again
I was 19
When I vowed to find him, the liberator and murderer
I would take him back to hell and back even further


Years later, now in adulthood
I long to search for the Devil again
The same devil who paid me a visit when I was a boy
The same that liberated me through false hope

Years under training, through police cadet then detective
I stumbled through the underground of vigilance
The underbelly of corruption and deception
It was 2009
I had seen the darker side of people: the slaughters, poisons and infant killers
The victims of **** and molestation, the beatings and thieving distillers


From one clue to the next I found
Families murdered, but with one member still alive
Whether a boy or a girl.
To lay witness to the acts willed by the one

A pattern was laid and I followed it accordingly
I was hot on the trail, chasing records in asylums
Convicted kidnappings, victims’ confessions
I was 29
A 911 called was patched, describing a man breaking into a house; it was him
I took the call and hurried to the address, to stop the lights from going dim.


I drove to the inner city, an unknown borough
And was surprised to find the address I received was to a closed down church
A Catholic cathedral, condemned and left to dust
But I saw lights inside and broke through the doors

The church was old and dark; cold without spark
The lights came from the Altar, where sacrifice was offered
It was 9pm
There I saw the Devil in the flesh, with a little child
And his appearance was the same as I remembered but more wild


He outspread his arms and welcomed me to his home.
All around him red candles were set ablaze
My heart sunk and drifted in fear
My skin sweated from the sweltering heat I revered

“Why have you done this!?” I yelled, “All this time?”
He smiled and wiped the yellow tears from his eyes
9 children
Walked out from the altar, carrying pitchers of unknown liquid.
I was silently subdued by what was unexpected and wicked


The door slammed shut behind me. The stone figures of angels moved
They crawled from the stone and moaned; touching themselves
They encircled me. They grabbed hold of me
“Why?” I cried, asking the devil who approached me.

“I liberated you from a life without truth.” He said
“I showed you the reality of God’s domain.” He told me. I was left weak
“Why nine?” I asked
I asked again. “Why nine children, the nine liberalizations and family deaths?”
“Because you were led astray” He said, “Was is it 9 or is a 6?” he whispered under his breath.


I looked down and indeed there were only six children.
Along with three demons.
Laughing and dancing as the church was consumed
In a blazing fire in the night of the devil.

The six children poured the pitchers down on the ground.
“You will bathe in the blood of their families and burn in this fire.” The devil said
9 minutes
I felt the the fire and the collective blood engulf my body whole
My skin burned and crisped. Everything burned including my soul


Once again I was released from a world of pain
Both accounts were not of my consent
And only one I agreed with
Save the moment I met the devil

It was many years ago when it all happened
My family butchered, the number nine sprayed on the wall
I was 9 years old
But then again maybe I was 6. And the Devil was me; a desire to ****
The demons were my guilt and I took my own life to stop the thrill

But it was some time ago, years as it would seem
Since the devil visited me and it wasn’t a dream

Ripples of effulgent colors
Reaching out from waters disturbed
Waves bothering no one
Except silent moods
And heavy sighs

Leaves falling like the fire from the skies
Sitting at the river bed alone
Hearing the blazing trumpets of angels
In the air for all of the world to hear
Definite, gazing and profound

The streets echoing the screams
Of thousands
Maybe millions burning
The people melting
turning to ash

And

Visions so pristine, with pools of clear waters
Where the universe dances with shooting stars
Nights so serene, with comets and saucers
Where multi-verse poets tell fables from mars

Mirrors orbiting realms of light and sound
Along ghost ships, serpents and mango worlds
Wormholes overwhelms clouds that surround
Near women’s hips and flowing hair swirls

The earths below like a burning molten orb of muck
Where Rephaite giants wrestle behemoths in vile seas
The dreams glow here like a harem where angels ****
And centaurs play Gato Barbieri tunes full of gleam

And

That sad moment where I wake up in an ***** pit
Below the Broadway theater
And a little Chinese lady scoots me out for new customers
And I stumble out into the streets
And buy a paper
Reading of a stock market crash
and the end of my job

as I fend for life in the jungles of Vietnam
I see friends of mine get their faces shot to pieces
And their brains fall to my lap
And I scream as the Vietcong rush me
Hack my limbs off and leave me for dead
And I wake up in a hospital bed
A quadruple amputee
Falling in love with a nurse I might never see
Again, so I ask her to hold me and let me
Cry into her shoulder
Then I pay a homeless man
to push me off a bridge with him

We fall and hit the water hard and—
He sinks
I don’t
I float up to the surface
And when I emerge I see
myself at the edge of a river
Tossing rocks into the water
I call out to help
But He doesn’t hear me

He stands up and leaves
I crawl up from the river with new arms and legs
Crying with an emotion I cannot describe
For what dreams and past-lives have been here
And there
On this Day of Wrath?

On this beach of trash and rocks?

Where I can see my grand-kids playing
In the southern California dusk

And my wife reminds me of the first time we met
In that hospital
Next to the ***** den
At the end of the world.

Let me go in the Dark

I want to be in there
In the space of corpulent, infectious glands
Swallowing innocence with labyrinthine hands

Let me be one with the Night

My home is over there
In a place of ubiquitous fears
And a plethora of basking tears

Let me soak in the abyss

The void is so near
A comely figure,
an evocative sadist and protégé
Dripping candle wax on me
in San Lorenzo, Paraguay

Let me walk among ghosts

In the Portal Del So hotel
Tossing back Xanax;
Vicodin with a liquor chaser
Gin and vermouth, *****,
anything to forget her.

Let me wait in living purgatory

With other pods of skin
When the wind shakes the barley,
back home
Where a wife and son
never left me alone.

Let me go in the dark

Past the tortured guilt and sorrow
Where a family is made of flesh
and not ash
Where a house remains
and the fires don’t last

Let me cry and weep in silence

In a room with rotting drapes
A static-channel TV,
a two blade ceiling fan
People engulfed in one another,
A demon  for a man

Let me shower in cold, thickening blood

Standing atop broken medicine cabinet glass
So many packs a day of cheap cigarettes
and loose women
None ease the pain
like the morphine in the kitchen.

Let me go into the chasm

The vein snake is thirsty.
I take a little more each time it feeds
But maybe not waking up
is what the snake needs

Let me sleep in the dark

While infomercials for prayer play
Juxtaposed to a zealous vagabond
and father
The last serpentine dosage
for a broken martyr  
Let me go in the dark

Let me see them again

I’ll wait and watch the room shrink
And hope my eyes
never dilatorily blink.

From the skies came the howling screams
And the malevolent weather
Casting the hands of shadow over my world
The loveless giants and slack-jawed executioners
Laughing and drooling over the wicker baskets
Filled to the brim with severed heads
Faces frozen in the final moments of their
Demoralized longevity

While the others
The innocents and deceivers
Hung from the peeling trees
From their necks
Their bodies swaying with the
Winds of the howlers; the hoarders and rising dead
Ravens and winged monstrosities feasting on the
Available tissue of those left behind in the dusk
Of lesser men and greater demons

I wept and cowered like never before
In the swelling, audacious fields of fallen brothers and sisters
The air was moist
The earth was damp
I pulled the black garments of butchered priests
Over my coarse back
Covering my punishment from the eyes of God
And his Angels
His divine bystanders
And jealous endeavors

Draped in the cloth of the papists  
Drenched in the accumulated fluids of the slain
I wandered the wastelands with no name
No home
No family
No soul in the moment of sought mercy

The drying of blood and tears hardened the stain cloth
Against my healing body
Pulsing and throbbing over my senses
Turning me into something more
A vile and vengeful entity
Walking among the land of the dead
A ****** of my sanity

Through the cascading water dripping from the sky
Souls and ghosts of the battlefield
Clung to me, touching my feet and hands
My path was followed by the impaled
The disemboweled and the murdered
For the name of such clerical disambiguation
Promising to be absolved for the crimes against His name

I wandered from the true path

I came to the cliffs above and looked over the carnage
Of a 1000 warriors and people all sewn together
In the skin of the earth.

Riding a phantom steed over the trampled bodies
Clad in otherworldly armor
And sweltering chains
The Horsemen of War walked
Among the covet children of his wrath

Not even knowing if I still roam the land of the living
I proceeded down from the cliff
And approached the Rider of War.

His crimson helmet hid his face.
Horns protruded from his brow
He carried a blackened shield
and a fiery Sword crafted from the pits of Hell

Striking his sword into the mound of dead
Rivers of blood soaked into his blade
It fed off the butchered, the murdered
The mutilated, the skewered, the molested
The sodomized, the swallowed, the reaping
The cowards, the fools, the thieves
The liars, the transgressors, the headless
The victims, the prey, the engorged
The envious, the gluttonous, the wrathful
More and more of the blood, the souls and the mess
Collected and gathered into the sword
Feeding the beast, the instrument of war
Fueling another plague of sinister dismemberment
On a once green land of kings and sires.

I picked up a walking stick from the woods
Walking through a darkened world
Where another noble shall claim me
As his moniker of death
In service to **** more men
God’s children
Mother Earth’s children
Who rip a part of each other with metal and teeth
Against the palms of titans and angels

All gambling on our victory or defeat
Where lives and words are mere tokens
It is not our lamentations or penance that is counted

Can I bear the attrition of my own nightmares?

Clad in the shredded papal garments
Soaked in hardened blood

I shall roam and absolve.

Whoever is worthy
In the bleak war of man
And his End.

The world is a Bersinski painting
The rain is a Plath poem
The night is a Fellini film
The day is a Bach cello Suite
Our love is a winter fable
Cold, warm and passing.

The stars are drips of milk
The wind is God breathing
The sky is a floating mirror
The grass is mother earth’s hair
Her ***** is the earth
Shapely, comely and nurturing

French roast coffee is the turning of pages
A scandalous book in a leather bound cover

The Snow outside is the harp strings strumming
Flaking specs falling lightly and patiently

The city is a never-ending waltz
The *** lives are directed by Bertolucci
The homeless vagrants are saints in rags
The People walking are sinners
Each a sphere within a sphere
A world within a world

The theaters are abandoned rib cages
The poets are Russian matryoshka dolls
The painters are lost children
The eyes are broken, stained glass
Your arms and body are home to me
Cradle me, soothe me and touch

Those words won’t do it this time
Sometimes the silence is what I need

And you with me, away from it all

Polished nails and faint fingertips
Soothing touch, but quaint red lips
Almond-shaped eyes, hazel iris gleam
Fair skin worthy of the loveliest dream

These words on paper
The very first
Starting the rhyme and verse
With more moments
And stories
All so poetic and stoic
Bleeding ink to fresh paper
Bleeding hearts to woeful ears
Tracing the lines
Of my formative years

Ashy mist skies nestled over
Bleak sleeping mountains
Ghost wood trees likes hands
Reaching from the earth

A girl named Olivia
Sitting in my grade school class
Dark hair woven
Threads of black silk

I never knew her as she grew up
Just an illusory form of a forgotten past
Imagining her as she could be now
I could walk up to her
And say:
      
       “Hello Olivia, It’s been a while
        You changed since being a child
        Your beauty’s been enhanced
        Maybe you’ll give the chance
        To talk and reminisce
        I just can’t resist
        Everything I see and hear
        Has never been so clear
        You make me feel content
        Whole, serene and free
        I just wish this wasn’t a dream.”

All things I wish I could say
To a person I could never forget
Where you simply forgot me
Because I moved away
And you lived your life

Stupid poems of love
Stupid songs of strife
I don’t want these things in here
On here
On these new pages
These quips don’t represent me
The way I want to be recognized
These aren’t the things I want to
Talk about.

Let these crisp pages tell of mutant women
And ******-****** fiends frolicking fiercely
Distorted, cathartic characters collapsing
Rippling, regal rodents ******
And cesspools shaping  
Bubbling, contorting, boiling, simmering
Cow intestines infused with cake batter
Incestuous fairies hopping and dancing to screaming metal
Crunching, chugging riffs and thunder-booming bass lines
Frightening, fulsome, fearsome, ******-up fire starters
Worshiping, boars and their tusks and piling carcasses
Blasting kick-drums and rolls of stomping toms
Orchestra of darkness, Symphony of Hell
Masquerade of puppets and angel witch choirs
Demon women and devil men, swamping
Over bodies and pulling me into the pits
Where the pleasure my body and tear my flesh
Eradicating goodness and lights
With blood, pain, salivating mouths over hardened *****
******* **** and trusting in and out like wild men
In a lake of burning coals  
And sins

I observe these happening(s) in this modern day
So I must write them and you shall read
And in the process
You will be
Shocked, surprised, disgusted, appalled and desired
Your body reacting to these words and phases

    Ever wonder what my voice sounds like?

I do too, at least in your mind

This is my voice.
This is not your own.

Bourgeoisie dinner parties fit for cannibals
White weddings stained with septic blood
Children racing across the burning fields
Chasing the reaper and his friends
rapid heart beats
cold sweating hands
stomach pains churning and squealing
forcible labor to invisible babies
pulling back lips and gums
and retracting teeth
sinking into warm necks
******* and stretching
moans
and beauty through depravity
animistic, egregious
brutal love and subtle kisses
bleeding hearts
and
bleeding pens


This isn’t bad.

I like this

Would Olivia find this mind attractive?
Maybe
Maybe not
It doesn’t matter
These scribbles and dabbles
On these ****** pages
Are the beginnings to something more
All sprouted from the memory
Of a girl.

On the surface of those cheap sheets of skin
Our hungry heads next to the radio
Emerson, Lake & Palmer sing of that Lucky Man
While children of the candy corn eat the postman

Space Opera pirates courted by Tiny Dancers of Mars
Spiders, in fact, band mates to a lad named Ziggy
Like us made of Stardust, eternal and galactic—
Though not supported by a studio laugh track

So many images can flash by changing channels
On the Technicolor TV late at night, feral and ******
Passing ships, Hamlet, pigs in clothes, angels killed,
Mouths ******, mothers crowning and holes drilled

Babes crying in the street, while the heavens fall
An unreal reality that flabbergasts wet dreams
Shifting gears for the animals to rule the room
Orwellian motifs ensuring self-righteous doom

Nothing written is appreciated till the lesson is met
Charted, ridiculed, challenged, accepted, analyzed
By those who skimmed through blurred scribbles of lines,
Puking phrases of former failures for the modern times.

Vicious cycles of kids raising parents
Using TV and Internet as the windows to life
Fundamentally naïve, systematically retrieved;
Academically relieved, posthumously achieved.

All meaning was lost in making albums not worth buying
All reason was abandoned when making movies not worth seeing
All adventure was ceased in vain of endless rules and authority
All we have are gadgets, bills and jokes on conformity

My broken clock is still ticking like a mechanical heart
All veins and arteries lead outwards from the center hands
The red lights of traffic leading in and out of the metropolis
Of that homeless blues singer named “something Tatopoulos”

A Japanese couple making a tourist trip to Memphis, Tennessee
Along midnight trains where ghost of Elvis haunts Italian women
Most of the time my references don’t make sense to most
But it keeps things interesting as I’m your eccentric host

Absolute processions of White Queen marches
****-face jackals sporting Mott the Hoople Tees
******* & *******, filling audience chairs
Prophets & moppets, raising fists in the air

Ooze-dripping ******* flower creatures
Topping off mammary gland excretions
Unknown pleasures released by Factory records
Amidst the hysteria caused by deaf leopards  

Pink and orange clouds, reflected in golden hazel eyes
Her smile I can’t forget, just everything about her
You never forget your first love, with eyes like maple
Even in the middle of seeing these strange fables

In this waltz we dance to the beat of three
One, two….

Why couldn’t that love last forever?
Three

These storybooks woven with leathery imbrication
Filling my palms with vile indication
Detailing such wickedness and strife
What ethereal threads cling to life?

Such labyrinthine desires scrapping in my mind
My soul from body; that body which isn’t kind
To delve deeper within the wounds that sever
To fellow wolves, demons and toothless beggars

Unholy martyrs preach from a podium underground
Ablaze in hellfire, monsters of the ravenous mound
Black tongues and cheeks full of worms and leeches
Coals flung and burning over deafening speeches

Sumptuous in eloquence, these tossers and man-boys
Evocative displays of violence, hushed by silence and toys
Beseeched, reprimanded in city squares with common folk
Feeding dogs in heat slop with a pail and tote

Children waving hi to people in cages, smiling indifferently
Don’t they know what this is? Yes and no, forever in shame
Don’t they know there be wickedness afoot?
There be shadows of molestation
And whips of industry
Eyes removed and replaced with bar-codes
There be devils amongst the valiant
And dark angels amongst us
The few and proud
Recite aloud:

        “Darkness brings uninvited guests
        And our bodies are bare
        Give us a blessing, a crumb or drop
        Of life that we all can share.”

Veins full of rubies and auburn sapphires
Creepers laced in the cowls of cadavers
Red water thicker than mud and spit
The fatherland sicker than a rotten ****

There be dark angels amongst us, telling tales deep-seated
They be grave and weary, their lives left defeated
Now in the wilderness they give slothful lectures
But it’s only fools who listen to these rambling specters

And soon no one listens
Save for the moon that glistens

It’s 1:21am on a Thursday night and there’s no rain
where there should be.
There’s no weeping over the seven-colored earths
and the erosion of the skin is building up.
I have a mouth full of stumbling words,
nervous and absurd,
like wax flowers and plastic china cups;
bottles of placebos.
I have masks on the walls
and body parts on the floor.
Dim light from violet lampshades painting worlds
with minimal effort, but with profound meanings
that pretentious collegiates speak over bearded elders
while stuck in fishbowl towns, separated from the oceans of
metropolitan beliefs.

    Pulling nail fibers from fingertips with crooked teeth,
    a habitual ritual christened from a darker half.
    Waves of feral multitude plunging the streets
    As riots of people made of fire chant the names of fallen angels
    And personified martyrs.

Episode after episode of plot-thickening exposition,
the weight of which is but a feather to the pull of the moon.
To **** my privates to a saddened resolution that’s
sweeter than a mutual **** for the sake of love.

    Penetrating me with needles as thick as bones,
    Brittle as sculpted phalluses made of teeth.
    Drilled out from the cavities and clamped iron
    that make me grind and ******
    In my sleep
    out of nightmarish extremity.
    Or persistent calamity.

She’s dead, wrapped in plastic
And fountains are pouring mercury
Profuse silver-stained drooling
Ostracized from sane certainty

     The thunder of guttural bellowing
     In the chasm of bed sheets,
     where leather bound demons
     split ***** hands under ice knifes
     Muffled voices
     And embryo faces
     Tearing out primal smiles
     Tied with black laces
     In a public amphitheater.

She’s dead, wrapped in plastic
And fountains are pouring mercury
Second time I’m seeing it drool
With a last moment of certainty.

It’s 1:41 on a Friday morning and there’s rain.
*Finally.

As the crow flies over yonder
Rusted strings beckoning their call
The wind in the weeping willow sings
Redeems those ugly sins longer

Leadbelly played the midnight special
With Roberta dead and gone

Pieces in the trees, except
For her soul which belonged to another

Devils got my woman tonight
Heads twisting and turning in my sleep

Rising flames going south of heaven
Fear bearing fruits of the womb

Boy, he could play
He could make the wood cry
He could sing and howl like that
With scripture and gospels fly

Prodigal of the rising sun
Voices carrying his wings of charm

Playing tunes whispered by fiends
That mistook his woman for some strings

Willie Brown knows the crossroads
Ages ago in the summer day haze

Watching friends like Robert trade their
Fingertips for sliding bottle licks

Hellhounds got my woman
Dealing cards from under her dress
My body whipped and beaten
With worms squirm in ****** mess

There goes the one, the man in black
Tipping his hat to me
The Morning Star approaching, asking
“Do you want to learn from me?”

The crooked tree like the arm of death
The clouds rising over the red sky
Yellow eyes lingering and staring
Weighing my soul for the perfect price

Mud covered my feet
But it hasn’t been raining

Nightmares crawling from my nails
With crows sounding like my momma

Devil strumming with my woman

Devil grinning, with a mouth like a cellar furnace

Hell wanting a piece of me
Sliding bottle licks and singing blues

Under the crossroad tree
A ghostly soul who can play
For the traveling eternity.

Through untamed shadows and blurred silhouettes
The moon remembers what the night forgets
it was a time before all, before the time we met
the form of a shadow and my love's silhouette

Gathering darkness of the collective noir
the hellish display of Satan's bazaar.
The passively insane, jokers and boars
of Victorian plays and Spanish guitars!

The view from here is lovely indeed
the vantage point of insanity.
A suit of skin is miraculous, I see
The stunning cloth of evil dreams

My, my, what a treat
ah,Visitors we see
all waiting to share
a shallow moment of care

Please show us, what's new
in the world of the living, this paradigm stew


A dance on the roof summons suspicion
from the mess below of ugly submission
I plead, I implore, abandon all tradition!
Before you pummel down the world's attrition...

I have seen the wonders of the other side.
Where mass ballrooms of dead reside
all swooping, crying, laughing with pride
While the they truly live and you surely die.

The fires of madness, the abundant endeavor
strikes a chord with those, whomever,
enjoy such masked adventures, whichever
Such with Boris, Phil, Julie and Trevor.

beating pain out from the brim
Retching blood and bile from within
Yes, of course I'll obey
Please...could you stay?

Yes my lover, my illustrious shadow tamer
the other that is here but only I can see, my sane reclaimer....

“Lucratively tedious” is what I called him.
That odd-ball collector of street-wise poets
Bulking up the lost devil anthologies while
Drowning black coffee with wordsmith stoics
Ready to deal a winning hand
at a moment’s notice.

The carnal majesty of fever blizzard erotica,
Stories penned with the sweat on oily skins.
The curtains of neon phantasmagoria
showcase psychosexual fiends and harlequins
Sing away raw vocal cord fire while I’m
dancing with Queens of glamorous sins.

He had that red tail swinging in the rain
She watched, the emissary of jaded seduction
With pale skin and leather lips abundant
Stroking hair full of snakes and destruction
With a wardrobe fit for 1980s metal scenes
As he in turn supplemented instruction.

It’s those bedlam vices creeping through the creases
Playing in our heads like a thousand movie reels
Desired fantasies mutated into corrupted realities
Shameful like the artificial chemicals we call meals
Some things need to be ruined to be appreciated
Just Like ol’ Lucy in her stiletto heels.

3am, the epitome of perpetual night.
        The hour of the wolf in sheep’s clothing
        Alabaster clocks, ebony needles for hands
        Walking to one-second beats on dripping wall paper,
         exposing the blood in the house and meat in the pipes.

I see shadows of the malevolent past:
        Rings of smoke and ***-stained magazines
        Lies woven into eyelashes, sealing them shut
        Bleak figures made of shattered glass
        Transparency, their only truth.

And dawn shows the new day
        A stage of light like sweet Arcadia
        The pages written for me to walk upon
        Every hour summarizes a year’s worth of turmoil,
        an abstract of vicious malcontent youth.

Standing against usurpers and cattle-branding parents
        I will not allow the false punishments to continue
        Nor the raging strangulation subjugate my woe
        Sweating fingers penetrate the holes
       All while pleasure and pain in endured.

As the sundial strikes noon, life meets the middle
        Leaves falling off trees while amidst the winter
        Hands tired and dry; legs crooked and frail
        I will wipe the dust of my friends away from me
        Like nothing and everything in between.

The tomorrow won’t come this time
        The prelude to eternity will be a last gasp of air
        And I’ll welcome the suffocation like a lost brother
        And abhor the condemnations like a pious father
        And I’ll think fondly of that fading mother
        As the light of day segues to a haze of fire
         I’ll take those reluctant steps that I must
         Ravel my life’s threads into a warm coat
And I will meet you at that cold and violent dusk.

Our Father,

who art in heaven

Mother Earth,

who art in Hell.

Burnt to ash,

ready Armageddon

Watch the sky

where angels fell



Zipper-mouths pulled tight

as the Cross passes the way

Carnal masks shimmer light

As sludge engulfs the day.



Vicious, vicarious crows of blackened ember

Cawing and moaning; devilishly romantic

The touch of fingertips on lips I remember

Left her womanhood wet and frantic.


Unchained desires that surely are satanic.


Those hours in confessional amongst lying sycophants

Console weeping eyes and tarnished souls

Elected “Saints” stand tall with hypocritical blather  

Condemning children with eyes like burning coals



“But virgins taste sweeter,” as the angels say

With sins like spices which season raw meat

But innocence-takers hide beneath crimson beds

Sitting atop thrones as stewards to God’s seat



Will those that fall, eventually rise?

All creatures tempted by tangible discord

Would we disobey the Grand one’s design,

If we follow the path that derives from the Lord?



Samaritans run extinct in the iron fire roads

And jukebox ****** priests play The Doors

Demon-eye coffee, dark like oily foes

I sip and read about the murders in the Moors



Devil executions fuel the jungles outside

Angels Abandoning service to kids like me

Fixers and hitters of the skid south side

Shouts from the shadows, “Hey, Nothing to see!”



Violent red dresses accompanying long limb girls

Spreading legs for daddy and **** daddy do’s

Magic hallucinogens showing circles and swirls

In faces under hoods and sky-crying moods

will i be loved in a time of sorrow?
will i be held in a time of pain?
will you be the one to stand for tomorrow
for the tears you shed in the rain

will i see your eyes tonight
will you hold me close
will your image  haunt my sight
when i am missing you the most

softly speak my name
and in my heart contains
shelter from all darkness
and engulfing flames

touch your lips with mine
with desire so divine
pleasures of the flesh
with rhyme after rhyme

Out of this world and through burned storybooks

Vespers and vapors of death-rattle breaths

Turn to birth cries only mists can hear

Through the chasm of her eyes

Like dark pits of asphalt

On a rainy night road

Wet and open.



We’re ghosts to a passing plane of shifting lives

Where broken glass crunch like egg shells

Under leather boots with steel toes

Worn by long torso-less patrolmen

Speaking in evangelical tongues

And slipping



The Silver-screen silhouettes telling me sweet nothings

And invisible people play moonlight sonatas

With skin-covered cellos and djembes

Near waterfalls and deep valleys

Of green and prosperous dreams

And life.



Animals to the metropolis, Human to the paper jungles—

Controlled, creative chaos next to whimsical

notorious passivity; it’s eclectic like tea.

Where do these words take us?

Where do worlds take you?

Everywhere and nowhere

But mostly



Anywhere.

Lately, I’ve come across odd characters and purveyors
Players and soothsayers of such fallacy; yearning and moral foliage
that stirs up something inside of me.
Something that is not inspiration but equally so
Just and robust—inescapable even,
unsure what the word is…

We’re all owners of a false paradise.
That warm place between life and death
It’s meant for a love one that never takes it away
or purposely fills in the gap left in ruins:

A home underneath the veins and a place beneath that as well
A prison made of tendons
With ligaments attached to heart-shaped locks—
Nooks and crannies in the corners of joints and bones.

It’s the lust for life
And the bargain for a soul
Less than zero *****
Given to while in the cold.

The realization remains peripheral
Nonetheless opaque and visceral
Painting a mordant but striking visual
That sharply penetrates the individual.

Pharmaceuticals help dislodge the jaw and
tempt the ravishing worms of intestinal intrigue
to slither out from the bowels and say their piece.
“Hi, I’m anonymous and I’m an addict,
But only by the broadest, modest definition of the term
More like an ill-advised profession,”
they say with a subtle wink in their sponsor’s direction.

It’s the lust for life
A fierce addiction
With hedonists as victims
Catered to a primal submission.

They’ll hate me; fear my desire to split from myself.
I’m an empathetic Jekyll, an apathetic Hyde.
A tainted Seraphim, a saintly devil-kisser.
One half a feral Bonnie with an over-****** Clyde.

And when all is said and done
with carnage coming out of the wishing well
You’ll see that I am both a vision
Of Heaven and Hell.