come wash your sin with me,
i am a flightless soul covered in gossamer
i am love in the form of locks
you cannot unchain with bared teeth
and bare skin and the blade
of the twisted dagger strapped against your thigh
i adore your spirit but i do not
adore you. i am a capricious madness
drink me to excess if you so wish
me to be—a cold chestful of chemical smoke
a sink full of the remnants of
an unborn child, eject me
i am unwanted, i am a wanted hallelujah
with a swollen-gum smile in every
lithographed dead or alive poster, please save me
please buy black water lilies
for my funeral the priest won’t attend
please let the worms make homes out of my
gaping throat, and i shall whisper unto
you. one last time. it will be done
unto your will without wisdom
i am corruption in the form of conscience
i am the riptide washing away your firstborn son
with the taste of ****** verona.

Pirates from the sunken ship making it ashore on a dilapidated raft landed on the shoe of a reef that was home to a scurvy knave who’d once been master engineer to the Royal Navy until *** took over his thinking and he began to concoct schemes to overthrow the Crown.
Dismissed as an insane crackpot he’d been set adrift by his shipmates; coming upon the aerated cluster of marine life that was chock full of unusual and bizarre aquatic creatures and minerals; now dwelling this long among the coral creating living machines from the articulated pincers and shells of all but unknown gigantic crustaceans living on and around the reef.
Bringing liquor made them more than welcome as some of the pirates had survived clinging to a chestful of buoyant ***. The old Navy man running from his coral-thatched hut. Seeing the chest first of all he finessed the lock with a sharp fingernail tossing the chest open and guzzling down a bottle. “Ay man!” cried Captain Quick.
“I saw ‘em bring ya down,” the old mad man croaked.
“Was it a rocket?” asked the brawny woman coming up from the beach.
“Who the hell knows,” said the beachcomber.
The fierce and ***** Lizzie Quick had two gold teeth in front, one incisor on the right and one opposite front tooth outlined in gold. Her back teeth were ALL gold. So she was never without bandelier and pistols even when she slept, or ***** knaves would try to pry the gold right out of her head but now she carried a long knife at her side and a shorter rapier in her ruined kneehigh embroidered Spanish leather condorosa boots. Her red satin corset was embroidered with gold silk and her soaked hoop skirt were red and purple just because they could be. Normally light on her feet, soaked to the skin she felt as if she were wearing lead bloomers. Calling her serving ***** Esmeralda from the sand, the woman began arduously removing her mistress’ clothing layer by layer. The scavenging hermit helping himself to another bottle of ***.
“Ay man, I say, where we be?” tried Quick once again.
“You be on Wild Island, my island and ya best get off it. There’s no room for ya.”
“Ay man, you say you saw what happened out there did ya?”
“Sure did. That hole opened up and blew a **** I could smell from here. Couldn’t get away from it if I tried but it sent a blast of black **** through the air like a jet.”
“Like a what?” said the pirate.
“It’s a kind of rocket, short for ‘jettison’. I can do the same thing with a lobster. Launch it near into space.” Quick was convinced the isolated kook was completely out of his mind. The ruddy tattooed woman stripping completely naked with no inhibitions, her equally inked dark-skinned servant dutifully peeling the wet garments from the darkly freckled body.
Quick picking up a bottle drank it down and tossed it to the sand.
“Say, matey, this ain’t your home. Don’t be discardin’ your waste on me property.”
“Who be you old man?” said the stinking pirate even after a bath.
“They call me Savage but that’s just me name. I was somebody once, an engineer in the King’s Royal Navy. I put ships on the water. Built me own right here on this here island. But I ain’t got nowhere to go.”
“You say you have a ship?” said the Quicks together.
“Say old man, how would you like some choice *****?” broached Esmeralda.
The old man squinted, “What’s that matey? Pushups? I don’t do push-ups.”
“Cooch, me hardy. Me woman’s woman’s offering you some ******. Have at it eh?”
The old man sat down in the sand to think it over.
“I haven’t had a wooden leg on many a yarn. Are they still usin’ ‘em the same way?”
“Nothin’s changed a bit, my friend. That ship out there, it’s full of women, me hardy.”
The old man’s eyes finally widened brightly as he peered from beneath his shade hand. The Green Belle out at sea gliding smoothly across the waters her wake clear as crystal.
“There be women on that thar ship?” said the sailor. “I be needing a wife.”
“Then it’s settled. You help us take that ship and you’ll get the pick of the litter.”
“Deal!” said the lonely codger wagging the pirate’s hooked paw.
“Now how about that thar ship of yours?”
“It’s a mechanical ship. Does your band know anything about machinery? Moving parts and such?” queried the stranded relic.
“I can rig a mean mast, matey. Me whole crew’s expert at workin’ a ship no matter what size.”
“I don’t **** care about that, matey. My ship goes under the water.”
“It sinks?”
“No, *******. It moves under the water like a fish.”
Quick scrubbed his jaw and pondered, turning to his first mate.
“Mister Lance, can you make anything out of what he’s saying?”
“He seems to have a moving...er...no, sir. I haven’t a clue.”
“Okay, old man, you win!” shouted the pirate queen herself, dragging the man by the feet into the hut. He was fine with it because he was drunk and his limbs like rubber. She was done shortly, returning to the crew on the beach. “He’ll be needing a rest. In the meantime why don’t we think up a plan?”

Ghost in the shadows, killing thoughts had in the dark,
What luck to have been so close to an edge,
pulled away from the cliff, close to being cut off,
But my scaled skin just broke off the tip. Given a
second chance to live.

Sort of took a chance to breathe, took all that’s in,
And letting out desire; seems my old inner demons
are quick to come together and conspire,
Darling I’m only a liar, I could never count all
of the daily lies in pen, and catchy rhymes.

But just wait for tonight.

Tonight we’re going to be caught up in a lie,
laying sheets of paper on a wooden bed,
Drawing closer to an embrace, with my imprint
on your skin.

Oh where to begin?


Is it sweet lips, cherry bites, and still wild,
scented candles, and perfumed necks,
Smelling of youthful passions, and exuberance,
I’m dying fighting this flesh.

Chestful of voices, holding breaths, holding
embraces, and swimming pools, swimming
breast stroke. I’m smothered by your pillows.

In the centre line to the belly of tickles, all the
sensitive areas for both of us.
Of course the senses are only too much, if my
tenderness of kisses are a bit too fast.

Setting sun, and a sinking moon,
in between an ocean with it’s two peaks,
I had my glimpse under a dress,
address me as a favourite flavour, slowly as you
undress.

The duration of warming up long legs,
pressing down buttons, pressing knees,
Pressing feet, pressing emotions, pressing
concerns, I’m pressed to solve them with a
bust of a gun.

Won’t our tonight be so fun?

A strawberry red bale
that gratitude was dale
but her waist ran a bijou
a chestful day in May  

and her thigh was derry with such a motif
that was ye trumpet from Sunnyvale tonight

where her sweet tooth went ravishingly bare
while incredible vibration she'd shareware
indeed, a variation hypnotically sound
like her chestnut roasting bonfire where

tactfully dressed in love attire
we happen to know that travel so far
with the web now our thoroughfare

and dire by dawn fit her ankle again
that entail her sprangle
though her selfie is the grandeur soon
with foetuses In her bottom.

It's navy-night streaked with dusty stars and cold sand creeping into places I'd much rather be. It's arms streaked with bits of you as entity glows in fickle-firewood-flare and your hands eversearching and my hands eversearching for all that is you in abundance. It's the milkyway in your blue eyes and the ocean in your smile. Every small beauty you notice. How every strand of freedom on your luscious head tells a story of the truthfulness one finds in people when they don't notice. It's your voice - and imagine strings - goosing up my skin. It's darker and it's glowing and it's further and we don't really need the half-light so we wet our feet but it should be colder but it isn't. It's almost there and actually there and you're lovely here. It's falling asleep at nine-eleven-two-four, waking up in between and having you to fill. It's the last draw of lips and your condensation on my neck. How you should be wrapped tighter-untilthegapsareallgone. How I'd trace every dip and rise, the lines that make the muse and kiss
Until exhaustion closes.
Your chestful echoes deeper
Your butterfleyes fluttering closed
It's feeling you
Splitter-splatter-splutter
Your story onto this stained canvas and making it worth a glance or fourteen;

Who am I
but a tracer at the forefront?
a direct result of pain,
so these images
are always distorted-
disfigured and misconstrued
malignancy swallowing me whole.

who am I
but my disorder
scraping away at my vision
so all I do in return
is feel everything
and witness nothing.

I am floating above these memories
with my hands reaching out
to touch, fight or throw away
whatever it is that's holding me back-
when will my sight return?

who am I but
a chaser of these wishes.
a runner after dreams
that stay that way
because my feet can't move.

how do I answer the question
when someone asks,
"what happened to you?"

who am I
but a body?
one they stole
away from me
so when I look into the mirror
I only see what they did to me.

who am I
but a mind
too in competition
with my former self
nose-diving into
self-destruction
one thought at a time.

who am I
but a girl
in a dark corner
replaying her past
until it deafens her
and she doesn't
remember the sound of her own voice.
All she hears is the silence
of what she should've spoken up for.

Who am I
but a name on a list,
a placeholder-
a speaker to other poets?

who am I
but a lost destination
no one remembers the name of.
too run-down
and has-been
just a point on a map.

Who am I
but these things I feel?
Who am I
without these things I feel?

Who am I but this trauma
caked inside of my mouth, on my teeth
and hiding underneath my tongue.
When will I be clean?

Who am I
but a survivor
telling stories
of the past
like PTSD is my calling card?

Who am I,
who am I
who am I?
but the things they have done to me?

Who am I
but a survivor?
paint the word in red across
the lines I have drawn over these years.

Hang it banner style in the offices
of the therapists who know more
about me than my father.

Tell it to the people
who broke me in half.

say it again
to the boy who shattered my insides.

scream it at the face
of doubt and insecurity
and remembrance.

Survivor.
It is not always black and white.
sometimes it is void of color-
emotionless and distinctive

But it is who I am-
speaking with this
chestful of trauma
learning how to breathe
around it as I go.

Can it hurt
anymore?
These angry fists
all full of lungs
drummed out a beat---

breath
squeeze
breath
squeeze---

a tug of war with
wills and will nots

A poison mouth
to bite from the inside
out

and all that was heard
teeth ripping
from this skull
tearing out this
heart.

Blanketed half-life limbs
melt one into
another. The birds are long gone
by now. Sodden cracked out floors

are all that's left. A God

that ran away from me-
holding out toes
hips
and chestful of lies-
And now I
lay

forgotten.
This collapsing throat.
A sight to
leave children
wringing their hands.


The walls are tired
of me
lately.

through the dents of my cotext
ill speak a chestful game of chess
and on those restfull days in bed
i love it when my back bleeds red
im insane in the brain is what i said
when they took me to the feds
did a full recall tryna solve this head
every day a new med for my bred
eatin pills untill im dead it makes me sick
so when im restin from this ****
inside a coffin six feet under shiftin
give this sample of my life a listen for the mix
i slide broke pistons through the night
fixin to be hoop stoopin till my movements right
untill then i think id like to leave my shoes tied tight
to the ankles of a knight that hopes for light
to shine bright through the window for his flight
yea im soarin through the high's like a kite

If I talk to the heat
above my head
it is of mayhem
and sage and rosemary
and the breathing in
of a chestful

Take yourself
in your arms
for a moment
don't admit
to a caress

Slink into some
darkness calm
delicious warming
envelopes and
you are still

Last night, I had a dream about you
That you never left my side
And I can still claim you as mine
Then I woke up
And it was all gone
I knew the truth
That you did too
I know that you knew
What others shouldn't know
And sometimes I wish
I could go back in time
And undo
Me and you
Tell me for once what I can do
To atone for my sins
For the forgiveness of our friends


Don't let me go
Cause I'm tired of
Feeling all alone
Missing your calls
On my cell phone
I'm hoping to see your face
Once again
Hug me tight
This time
Kiss me for once again
Never let me go
On the road
Of loneliness again
Can't bear my chestful pain
For I saw the takeoff
Of your plane
I'm no longer sane
Thankful to Ghostemane
Even if you can't claim
At least
Remember my name  
Until your memory fades...