The body of one who has been touched with no feeling
a rage that flows in its deepst grip
clothes are torn and sobs are heard
what is more than the mockery of the Carcass the one who claimed it's dead
the object that died in its ******* of what they feared
To who has heard the mockery of the Carcass
at night by the cemetary
or next door by your fellow neighbor
but do not fear the Carcass is alive
and yet you claim it's dead
for that you do not value it by what it is
but what it has.

how to be wanted
like
curves sculpted by an artist
a lover with a paint brush
wondering what goes wrong by sunrise
a stroke with your hand
the air so fine and heavy
as our breaths pace and dogs bark
the fence behide us
if the eyes of someone struggling to understand
how to be loved.

Moonrise and sunrise
Their ubiquitous presence
in war  
in festivals
It's rage and it's freedom
to control and be controlled
no place to hide
a place to look
and you are in love with venus
across your heart and though your mind
but tell the god
you are the god.