empty, he hangs
hunger echos eternally
euphoric echelons unreached
up tips the glass
all sixteen ounces vanished
split second, drained down
our dry roiling throat
oscillating, undulating
fleshy chords twanging discordant
as our eyes scan
the floor
for food

the hunger is
not unknown to
me. he speaks
his piece each evening,
growling guttural in the
ear of my psyche
in a word-like lilt
he needs
a constant cadence to
feel full, as he
enthusiastically entreats
every evening

tonight is no
different. across the
table he sees  
one. entrée du jour.
body fills with foul
pitch and sulfurous fire.
and shame, of course,
always shame.
i shouldn’t need this
and neither should he
prescriptive philosophies aren’t particularly
obtainable, he
offers ourselves

rising, a snap
audibly cracks from
my ailing back.
ours? his? hard to
quite say these days
but i digress anyway
we’re halfway to target
rolodex of first topics
spinning manically
searching, manipulating, looking for
that lone loquacious line,
algorithmic in its alignment
to enthrall
engulf, enamor

the spotlight of
consciousness is fickle,
you see. bodies
are only loyal to
themselves. they contain all.
and mine, sometimes, does
not even contain me.
no warning, he simply
begins his hunt, filpped
light switch
so banal and flippant
i am not needed
and so aside cast
succubi schema
sunsetting sense

i don’t know
where i go
it is the
sense of nothing, absence.
my body simultaneously there
and gone. i feel
some of it. pleasure
sneaks seductively up into
my sinew and bones.
i always wonder who
was first
which of the ******
spirits presiding amongst my
cells was the first
to see
sumptuous sunlight

as his evening
seeps into me
squeezing into the
small spaces where i
still exist, i flux
both small and sprawling
my void form changes
with me, taking direction
from my wandering thoughts
“was he born here?”,
i inquire
ineffably to no one.
expecting an answer, none
comes. just the squawk
of *** and sheets,
vibrato voices
vigorous, vehement.

couldn’t say who
was first out
but i’m first  
up today, rays rousing
from sleep and stupor.
i see her with
my eyes for the
first time, curled up
like a kitten, exhausted
of the evening’s destruction.
cast into her shoulder,
his teeth
show i’m the stranger
here. like mine but
aren’t. can’t be. never
met me. still, she
serenely slumbers
silent, sensuously

voiceless now in
his void, we
are finally separate.
abandoned to the labors
of the morning, infernal
impulses satiated, i go
method, best impression donned.
she is, obviously, confused
by the reality of
me. former affection burning
away like vampire’s flesh
in light of day
succubi’s *******
now gone dry. so
too it’s mosquito’s charm
subtle and soft, now
irritated, vulnerable. hurt. and
alone i
am again.

in the bottoms
the lowest points
tesseract echos
of clicking jaws
clamping down
clacking shut
with voices
murmuring in between
the soft augur
exfoliating down
a sandpaper of teeth
garrote out
in such
kind supply
and velvet layers
fluttering through
so soft
this psyche
crash pad
a spiral
funneled down
or out?
dunno but
scribbly sounds
reverb around
greatful dead
demonic retiree
homely calling
there there
even evil
gives a break
just be
all ideas
struggle to
swim so
float a spell

did you ever close your eyes tight as a kid?
i mean, REALLY tight. Tight™.
so tight that the dark gives way
to deeper dark which, inexplicably,
explodes into starburst sparkles of abyss,
dark-light shimmering like eyelid fireworks
Lawrence’s nethers, bemoaning bavarians
and gloom, black blooms blossoming all
around

keep squeezing. keep looking, head bowed low
do you see the mad shadows now?
at first dancing geometric, measured
soon to vanish spectrally into the void
then – back! now embracing iteration
forward-thinking in their anti-euclidean considerations
midnight backdrop finally filling with colors; form
the first cracks of crimson breaking forth, shaping
it

don’t give up now. I wouldn't. he wouldn’t.
mama didn’t raise no quitter now, did she?
(or whatever aphorism gets you going
just get there) have you? good. stay.
for me, those shards of red form rivers
tributaries of some inner sanctum
a breach in the boundless black on black
static, silent and solemn, shhhhhhhhs
the space in-between paradoxically shifts. Then,
we

finally see it. the impossible pool. the reflection
somehow gleaming through white noise to a
subtle blue-sable flow, rippling ever-outward
can you see yourself? no? keep looking down.
i do, my face embarrassingly younger than i’d like to admit
vanity finding me even here, even at the core of my being
for a moment, all is peace. calm. christ-like in repose
memories flood forth, ajna working overtime
these ones don’t smack so sour, more often than not
in my father's favorite dives, only dregs in his glass
remain


but, like all tides, it turns. the backwash bitter
acerbic, odorous. the brimstone feel of it confuses
i’m half-expecting to be boiled by a burst of flame
none comes. the pool simply calms, somehow hellishly frozen
it is a mirror now, harsh and unyielding. i stayed too long (did you?)
nostalgia holds my neck down at first, but only just. they
rush forth, recollections forming a phalanx. a salvo.
Ah! –  but water does better than fused sand can at
justifying a god's ways to man. and so, it gives.
blasting upward, each now an arrowhead, rending rifts across me
traumatic bear trap sprung, Nemesis on Narcissis punishing
a hubris apparently deserving the maximum sentence of
always

i know what happened to Liropie’s son, gazing longingly into the depths
of his pool, Echo’s pining just ringing out for the first time
how his ardent passion, his primordial linage, burned him
from the inside out. he melted, that child of **** and regality
his tears rending deep rifts, a hunter in bittersweet appreciation
for the trap he understood himself to be snared within. he knew
he'd never leave. must have, storied slayer that he was.
a wounded gazelle in denial, bargaining with the Fates frivolously
he knew the score, packed it in. burst forth into molten golds
and whites. rebirthed radicles reaching for a new day
yet the sky above bears down, ever down, to the vengeful mirror below
always is always, ya know? i get it. but i find myself asking
how long did it take? how long did he bow and bleed?
how long before he made himself a karmic ingot? before
sorry.

on nights like this, hell, most nights
the cost is far too unbearable, it breaks the bank
breaks the soul too
the thought of waking again,
starting anew, rings absurd and distant like a land
too far and fair to be true
night wraps gently around me
both negligee and noose, swaddling, suffocating
what life is left
how long? how long will I wait?
bespoke bereft, i know. i did it all to myself.
pain into pride slowly crept
sure, my eyes will close and i
will drift down into the blaze-blue blackness of my mind
whereupon lurks
some peace. a lulling void left
alone, mine, free of each trial and terror laid as
a trap, intended to bind.
no ball or chain. an anklet
will do. reminds me of the ever-presence of you.
yet you’re not here.
daylight begins to break through
night disappears, void dispersing. with each, my concerns
too. out I go, fearless now
So suave So stoic So strong
Confident in the natural order and My place
til i feel it
again, ethereal
but there and so **** heavy
an anklet. yours.
i can’t pay for it anymore.