Let them spill their worth

Of beloved righteousness

Let them soak the soil of such vanity

Let their hollow hearts decry the stars

Where death devours this very breath

Let loose the whaling of hidden drums

And the trumpets that sound from depths above

Let agony free through the fires that burn our air and drink our waters dry

Let them cry at the feet of nothing

Cry of nothinnnng

Noth

innng

As it drains them dry

I  attempted skinny dipping once. I was on a beautiful beach, with a former lover. I had a concoction of colourful cocktails coursing through me, too many that I couldn’t have completed that sentence, at the time, if I had tried!

I felt good, amazing even! I giggled and skipped, I breathed in the warm air, I glided towards the sea, I could smell the air getting saltier by the second, I could taste the ocean.

As I pulled at them, my clothes left me, They fell away with grace and floated off into the night. I am so feminine so free I thought! I almost felt as if when I reached the shore line my legs would leave me, a beautiful tail would form!

I would be a mermaid, I would dive in and it would be magic, I would splash and laugh, the moonlight would dance on the water, making my hair sparkle! I would glance back at the land and at my love, he would be raw with emotion, sad for my leaving, wonderment for the sensual, ****** siren I had become!!

Instead.

On the way to the water, I kicked a small rock, fell to the floor like a sack of bricks and let out a noise I can only describe as a deep and gutteral mechanical whine.

As I lay there, disheveled and naked on the sand I could hear in the distance, the heavy laughter of my lover.

I gained some bruising, I lost a toenail and my dignity.

I havent attempted skinny dipping since.

A whippoorwill &
some mourning doves,
the gutteral croak
of the wood stork,
chasing squirrels,
a dying cricket or two.

Who knew
the splendid call
of a hawk circling above
could be such a sweet sound,
part of the greatest symphony
ever composed
& played for us
by the master,
conducting
beautiful harmonies
from the pulpit
above.

There was mist up high on the mountain
There were bones along the shore,
And a line of caves that met the waves
Around that evil tor,
There were screeches in the forest
But they weren’t from parakeets,
And the heavy sound of breathing
Late at night, and from the deeps.

While the waters round this island
Seemed to mutter from the reef,
When the tide would urge them forward
They would pile and then retreat,
It was if it was forbidden
For the waves to beat the shore
As an ancient Atavism
Gave out its primal roar.

So we camped out there on the beaches
Within sight of Hartley’s wreck,
That the reef had torn a hole in,
There was water to the deck,
It sat forlorn on a *******
Within reach, when the tide was low,
We hadn’t a plank so the vessel sank
And we had nowhere to go.

We lived on fish that we netted,
We traced out ‘Help’ on the sand,
We hoped that a plane from overhead
Would rescue our little band,
There was John who was the bosun,
There was Jane who cooked and chored,
Myself for the navigation,
And Hartley, that made four.

But seven others were lost at sea
Were afloat beyond the reef,
The tiger sharks had left their marks
With their cruel razor teeth,
So we kept a silent vigil
With the single flare we had,
And hoped that Keith would bring relief
In the merchant ‘Iron Clad’.

(for alternative ending, jump to *)

‘We need to go in the forest,’
Said Jane in a bleak despair,
‘We need to find what fruit and berries
Might just be growing there.’
So John went off with a bucket
As the sun began to rise,
But soon was back, he had been attacked
And was missing both his eyes.

‘A thing rose up in the forest,
It had no shape or form,
It just looked black but it still attacked
And I felt my face was torn,
It had a gutteral growl as old
As the earth that formed this place,
A sense of aeons before the storm
That created the human race.’

He died that night with a whimper,
With everyone else asleep,
I began to shake as this evil shape
Was taking him up the beach,
It dragged him into the forest,
Food for its larder there,
And I so scared and unprepared
That I fired our only flare.

It lit the heavens above us,
It lit up the sand, and then
It lit the trees in the forest
And the bones of other men,
When Hartley woke with a curse and spoke
The most welcoming words he had,
As Jane got up from her sleep, he cried,
‘By God, there’s the ‘Iron Clad!’

(Alternate ending from *)

When Hartley woke in the morning
We saw he had gone quite mad,
For John lay dead with a bleeding head
And a wound where he’d been stabbed,
While Jane took off and ran up the beach
To shelter in one of the caves,
And I was forced to listen to him
Engaged in one of his raves.

He was blaming John for wrecking the ship
And blaming me for the tack,
‘You were the Navigator, Jim,
So what do you say to that?’
I said that the fog was thick and deep
When we drove up onto the reef,
‘And you should have been up on the deck
Not down in a drunken sleep!’

He went for me with the rusty blade
He’d used already on John,
But I was younger and far too quick
As he came stumbling on,
I wrestled him to the ground and found
The knife had entered his side,
Then belching blood on the sand he cursed,
Lay on the beach, and died.

When I went to look for Jane I heard
A single scream in the cave,
Where a giant octopus held her,
I was just too late to save,
It’s tentacles were ten feet long
And were wrapped around her frame,
Though I slashed and cut off three of them
She was dead before I came.

So I wandered back to the lonely beach,
The only one alive,
My heart so low at this latest show
That I thought of suicide,
But then out there in my bleak despair
I fired the flare we had,
And there, beyond the reef I saw
The shape of the ‘Iron Clad’.

David Lewis Paget

You are the weather of my soul
My fingers are trembling ships racing
Trying to reach an island
Where the seabirds play
In the light of a never ending sunset
Why now,
Are the storms raging silent?!
That I can see the tumultuous lightning
And feel the rain as it pounds onto my skin
But the gutteral growl of thunder
The instinct imparted from the crackling sky does die
And my ears listen to the sound of the beginning
My greatest fear
Silence
When there was nothing at all
And nothing again
In the end

You are the weather of my soul
The way a humid ninety-degree day invites the rain
And my fingers are song birds flying
Trying to reach the nest
A place to call home
My songbird fingers
Your skin
I can feel your pain
Still
I can't hear your voice
Silence is my greatest fear

Oh, my jaded love
My sunshine day
My storm
Encompassing me
My flood
Silence is my greatest fear
So talk to me!
Even if what is said
Is nothing I want to hear
You are nothing more than everything
The weather of my soul
My love
And even if its raining stinging drops of violent pain
Where you are
I want to hear it

settled in a glass grown vineyard,
the sleep-addled living room
door with gutteral hinges, making friends
with pall mall smoke rings
and let ghost blood spill all over
on couches and our moncler's
wake up to the sound of you crying
on the staircase feeling the scratchy carpet
through blankets on the bed
like my heart is teething, hurting again
he picked me up and lay me there
like you once did except you've been dead
for five years

I forgot part of the question
                                                          what was it?
Learning                                  history                                your
she  was too young, so was I
need a good grade...am at the coffee shop...drank the coffee....ate the cookie
wasted time on FB                    the question WAS
It pulls on me and someone puts on Death Metal and there's this gutteral gravely synthesized voice
and (what was the que--)
being pulled, resisting, but it's too strong
and I'm in
floating in memory....the question
to answer I have to slit my chest open and let some of the contents run free
as I ... it wasn't all books and pencils and how dare you ask such a question
my life wasn't a hallmark card
she was only 10 and she was my best friend so that means I was only 10
My learning history--how can I even think...we had a psychic bond we did a test
and it showed and she was a little chubby with golden skin and
her father was creepy and he left out his copies of Hustler for me to see and
told me beauty was in the eye of the beholder
but to **** a ten year old that is vile
I remember...a day or so later, going over to her house where she showed me
what she brought home from the hospital
(chalk and teachers, and winning jelly beans for knowing state capitals)
and she had coca cola in her fridge and all the latest appliances from Sears because
her father worked there, like a push button phone and a washer/dryer with a digital display
and clocks, too, like that and when she told me what happened it was like
being electrocuted painlessly for about three hours and I had to leave
because...books.  drawing things and teacher don't give a **** about anyone
and today, children are much more protected and people talk about things
but then
(my learning history? I remember desks, and boards and being nervous)
and how can a grown man take a ten year old he knows and tell her
they were going to find someone and instead
stop the van, just looked like her father's van
(today we are doing long division)
demand she goes into the back of the van and take off her pants
and stick his tongue in her mouth
and then kick her out
bleeding so she ran to a vet and they called the ambulance
(and she never came back to school)
and I started piling on more clothes, layers.  
You can't show those ... what is happening to you
and my learning history
I can first give you this
caked in blood and no, it's no longer bleeding, thought it was
I have unearthed something
there was something in the way and
that's why I couldn't answer the question

They ran so far, ran so much that the soles of her feet were stained with blood. His hand never lost its grip while hers was bathed in oil, her cheeks blushing with shock and excitement. To think they had pulled it off! She never felt so crazy in her whole, bland, little life!

The couple ran across streets. They ran across fields. The night smelled like a child's perfume. The flowers mixed their aroma with the grass to tempt any lover to imagine what their worth was. Only a sliver moon revealed itself, so they were blind to nearly everything, just as they were so blindly in love. It was an eerie night, but a captivating one.

They whisked past trees as if the tree boughs and twigs would swoop down  like a skeleton's arms and fingers, trapping them into a thorny grip. They dodged cars like they were alien outlaws from another realm. They ran like there was no tomorrow, and the whole world would explode in a moment.

She did not care what anyone would have thought of her. To have hung herself would have made more sense to her parents than to be so impulsive and take off with this man, this stranger. They would have insisted she was out of my mind--and she was--but she never felt so sure sure of herself.

She never knew who she was, but maybe she was about to know and it would be wonderful. The cares of her world seemed to melt, at least they did in the cool of the night as she gathered the courage to run free.

All was going well, as the wind kissed her cheeks and her mind felt eased of her burdens. Yet, for one brief moment, the desire to rip her hand away from his overtook her, a failed moment of self-doubt.

It did not seem like it was really her pulling her hand away. As she yanked free from his firm grip, she froze in her tracks, panting from sheer exhaustion. All the courage had sudenly drained out of her just as mysteriously as it had consumed her.

In the failing moonlight, the shadows played upon his face in ghoulish distortion. The chiseled, calm features seemed to transform. Suddenly, fear rose up in her and she wanted to deny what seemed so obviously grotesque. She rubbed her eyes. Were they playing tricks on her? She gasped.

Inbetween the shadows, his face looked demonic, like death. What was happening? For a second or two, she could not distinguish a man from a monster, who it was she was really following after.  It had to be an illusion!

His lips were formed out of putty and burnt rubber, seriously twisted out of shape. His teeth appeared busted and broken into jagged pieces of rotten glass. His eyes seemed to glow and slowly narrowed at her in frustration, his skin rough and embedded into hardened cheekbones.   She continued to rub her eyes and blinked hard a few times to erase that ugly, horrific  image.

A swirl of clouds veiled the moon, but they soon moved on to give her eyes some clarity again. Her perplexed lover was staring at her, his face fair again, well-proportioned and handsome.  So why couldn't she budge? She convinced herself that her eyes must have been playing tricks on her. She knew he was waiting for her to make a move, but she couldn't find the strength to respond to his wishes .

"Come on", he called out to her. Once again, he reached out his hand to beckon her to place her hand in his.

She now was not so sure of what she was doing. She stood there, dumbfounded, and so ashamed of herself. The leaves rustled in the wind as if they had lost their patience with her, too. Just a few moments ago, she had such courage. Now all the excitement and madness had abandoned her all at once, and she felt so small and powerless to the night, as if it was engulfing her in its darkness.

"Come on!", he repeated. The tone in his voice was angry now, and it sounded unnatural, gutteral. She dared not to look at him for fear the scary image of him would return. The minutes felt like they were ticking away in sludge, and the desire to run was creeping back into her, but not to run with him.

Soon, her lungs were stinging from the chill air of the night. "No", she feebly replied, "I can't do it".  Those few words took the last bit of energy she had.

He started trying to convince her to go on, but quickly the firm calmness in his voice had disappeared as his voice grew threatening. Before long it reached a crescendo of profanity and perversity, again sounding unnatural and more otherworldly than ever.

She began to cry in her helplessness. He mocked her. He shamed her. His words were punitive and cruel. She was nothing.  She was better off dead. She disgusted him and her presense degraded him. There was nothing good about her, nothing at all.  She was ugly, ignorant and usless. Fearful that he may hit her, she took it all in,  frozen with fear. But he did not touch her, yet it would have probably have hurt much less if he had. She shut her eyes to try to erase his image, and she covered her ears to drown out his cruel words and his harsh voice.

It may have been just a few minutes of him taunting her, but it seemed like eternity. She let him rage on instead of fighting back to defend herself. Fighting back seemed so futile, as she felt so cowardly and small next to him.  She could not find her voice even if she wanted to, but soon he had slipped off into the shadows, his footsteps sounding away from her upon the pavement on dirt road they had been running down together.

She was trembling now, more from cold than from fright. She now believed the threat was over. That was it. It was finished. As surely as it started, it was over. He was gone.

No, she was not going to run away that night. No prince or knight in shining armor was not going to rescue her to whisk her away to safety.  Nor was anyone going to take her away to a happier place that she often dreamed about.

So she slowly turned around to head back to her old existence. The hurt she felt was now turning into numbness, but that was nothing new in her life. She was used to it. She knew I did not have the life she had wanted, but she began to realize that it could have been much worse. Maybe she was nothing, like he had told her, but she was walking away and she was free. Yes, she was free from that nightmare that could have been the end of her.

She did not feel alive anymore, not like she did earlier, but she was able to put one foot in front the other take herself away from what had now become "nowhere".  She was confused at first to which way was which, but she  eventually found her way back to her familiar surroundings and headed home.

.
In mid airs, dimly,
The ****** birds cluck,
Only flutter useless wings
For they are grounded,
Nor are they beautiful,
O how they feign singing,
Gutteral cluckings only fit
For predators to stalk,
Lame ugly birds prefer
The company of other
Lame, ugly, groundy birds,
With no things, ever, to sing,
Only to preen and beak
For scraps under trees,
Where winged songbirds
Lit by the flighty sun
Do truly sing.

Restless
Wounded
Weary
Wild

Working
Waisting
Wasteful
Vile

Hunting
Hurting
Hungry
Guile

Soothing
Smothered
Sinful
Tried

Wouldn't
Willful
Could
Repeat


Shouldn't

Wouldn't
Revel
Met

Wonder
Wander
Meddled

Spawned

Common
Shuttered
Humble
Harmed

Careful

Calculated
Course

Drawing
Waiting
Last
Recourse

Homage
Engorge
Gutteral

Gainful
Grieving
menial

Spew
Dispatched
Dispassionate

Great
Aloof
Merry
Spoof

Wander
Willing
Youth

Cancer

Crevasse

Comfort
Pain

Cuckold
Credit
***

Steward
Swear
Sally
Forth

Slither
Sully

Glum

I'm perfectly fine
spewing my gutteral English,
but guys can dream.
How I'd love to speak nasally,
pronunciate just a bit
of high-Francaise.

Bonjour.

******!

Banshee screams echo in the icy, crackling gloom
Warm, freshly pumped blood spatters a pale moon
reflected in dilated pupils
whose freeze-frame focus seems fixed on steam
from that memorable last breath
slowly dissipating

Menacing, gutteral snarls
Tarmac demoniac sniffs her ****
snaps drooling fangs
at a scythe wielding spectre
snatching stunned
souls from twitching corpses
Now she packs them in pecking order

Splintered crystals of falling glass
mournfully ****** ****** the last post
Distraught, upended armco barriers
hold their freeze-frame salute
and Babylon thrums a bit louder

May I see your license please

A soft touch
Slides across the skin
Chill bumps rise
As belly quivers within

Expert hands used perfectly
Heighten desire
Every touch more exciting than the last
Body heats up like a fire

Lips press to the silken flesh
Velvet tongue delves out
Washing the skin almost
A moan escapes loudly

Teeth nip at skin
Nails scrape the surface
Buds tighten to a sensitive nub
Lips find and kiss

******* deeply
Knocking the wind from the lungs
Back arching
Hands cling to the head

Gasping as body grows hotter
Cries grow louder
Hands move faster
Lips meet lips

Moves grow demanding
Flesh to bare flesh
Growls mix with moans
Bodies entwine

Tension Grows tighter
Movements get faster
Heat engulfs them
Volcanic force surrounds

Electricty surrounds
Crackling and hissing
Shrill voice piercing the ears
Gutteral moans vibrate ear hairs

Finally shaft enters well
Nectar surrounds it delicately
Muscles squeeze and release
Steel hits harder and deeper

Friction increases
Sweat beads on surface
Honey flows against the tight rosebud
Fingers twist and release the plesaure spot

Perfect rhythm
Increases to a frantic dance
Changing position
Depth  unhead of obtained

Whimpers, Whines then Cries
Moans, ahhs, and Groans
Squishing slaps heard repeately
Mouth mash and bite

Timing almost right
It is on its way
Winding tighter
Growing hotter

Suddenly it comes
Body hammers quick and hard
Then pauses and and slams again
Milky white meets clear and thick

Panting cries reach high pitch
Waves of passion overcome all
Collapsing together
Entwined forever

Lovers thats what they are
Now and forever
Never very far from the other
Love You See

Passion

Bliss

Love the best of them All

Who are these people?
Why aren't you listening to me?
Can you not see...what I can see?
I think that my soul wants to jump out of my body it is vibrating and I am shaking...
I am breaking
I try and sleep and only know these waking
hours...
Do you have the powers around here?
Where are you taking
me???

No, I don't want to be
No, I do not want to die
No, I've never ever actually tried...
yes, I wish I wouldn't cry
these up and down tears of utter panick, agony and distress  
Alright already I confess!
I'm probably just like the rest
I don't know... is this..
a test?
You....
tell ME?

I can't eat
or care for myself...
I feel nauseous
my stomach hurts really bad
yes I am, I am kinda sad
Occasionally I find happy
or laugh at something sappy
man that dog is yappy!
What is HE yelling at?
and why is SHE saying that?
did someone just barely call ME fat?

I don't trust that person over there
she has bugs in her hair
that girl...right there!
....that guy said so!
and HE should know...
and I don't like the way that one looks
at me...
He...
...is creepy... said I'm beautiful
bunch of weirdos and addicted crooks
no I don't want to read a stupid book!
or go to a class?!
For what?

I don't understand why I'm here
I'm afraid I'll never leave
You need to believe
I cannot understand I feel like I'm in Hell
That is not a place I'd ever want to dwell
I know I did NOT sell...
my soul!

Well then, what's your goal while your here?
Tell us what's the greatest fears?
Something whisper in your ears?
What do want your life to look like?
Don't look so worried
It's alright... take all the time you need
we'll feed you in the meantime
I can see...sweetpea...
your clearly confused and you look
like you took awhile to get here
you seem exhausted... so try and get some sleep

Oh..falling into the deep!
Oh I don't know
those picture shows
can be so frightening
the snapping, cracking deadly lightning and strange
gutteral things and horrible loud flapping, rapping blackened wings!
the Raven he came thrice
along with the 3 blinded mice
and other ones were not so nice..
...either

Yes...but still some are still exciting?
Even if still a little frightening?
Like dreams of forgotten or forbidden love
and singing Angel's from up above?
memories of your first sweet kisses
some so nice...and a few near misses
the boy that you sent for
on your hand blown wishes?
How he loved to watch you dance
in his eyes he stared at you entranced
your souls were one so intermingled
touching him it made you tingle...
and you loved how beautifully familiar
he was...
Remember that?

Yes I suppose..that you are right
time to rest here for the night
thank you for this dreaming land
when I wake up...you know...
I've planned
on doing everything better!

Okay, goodnight my darling
close your peeping..
sleeping eyes
No more tears for those to cry
Rest your overwhelming fears
get sweet dreams, my precious dear
I'll see you in the morning

I'm just warning...
No more walking dead
that's the only thing I still dread
I guess enough about that I've said...
Change will be here soon...I know.

Goodnight...
I'll see you in the morning light
when all my hopeful dreams
again...
...take their final ...
               winged flight.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

just close your eyes sweetie
take a breath to remember
for you will never open them again
take in the smell of the grass
the color of the sky
but ignore the mushroom cloud penetrating nearby
forget the mask on your face
forget your hazy gaze
but remember the lone flowers swaying sickly
awaiting for thier end to come
remember your tree
whose leaves are falling
as if it was fall
yet it is spring
remember your dog, not knowing the impending doom
who still sits by your side and waggs his tail
looking up to you
remember the smiles on your mothers face
the laughter from her throat
but forget the solemn look on her face
as she gazes into the distance
seeing the wave of destruction approach
remember your father as the man he was
not the coward who fled
you can only remember the best my love
for if you dont
you will not live on in your head
remember only the good things about you dear
your wide hips
slender curves
well fed cheeks
not the scars that reach across your skin
scratching to get out from inside
remember the smiles you had on your face
not the tears gliding down with little grace
remember your gutteral laughter as a beautiful thing
not something to be ashamed of my love
think not of your younger sibling
still an infant in your mothers arms
for lost children are to be mourned
think not of what they could have done
just think of thier cute cheeks
think of them as now, not could be, not could have been
time is running out my love
walk, calm and slow to your bed
looking back at the place you call home
and take your teddy
clutched in your tight grip
and lay in the bed with your mother
tuck the covers up to your chin
and close your eyes
for now you may allow your tears to fall
and to curl into your mother
your infant sibling between you two
remember now as just a nap
a nap forever
to never wake up from
close your eyes my dear
do not let the cloud moving at incredible speeds scare you
for it is just a dense, deadly fog
your eyes close
as the grip on teddy tightens
your mothers grip on the two of you become desperate
and as your teardrop hits the pillow
you descintigrate
into the unknown
but my dear
you can always hold my hand
and remember
i will guide you through oblivion

Suffocating in this state of mind

Like a grain of soil

On the wall of a

perpetually filling

Bottomless pit.

All stale

and collapsing mud.



I can’t breathe

And it is dark in here

In this silence

In this wet and stifling

***** blanket

Of thin smiles

That veil

filth and dirt.



Gritty, I can taste discontent

( restlessness stirred, agitated, weeping)

Like a thorn in the side

Of this torn and invisibly stitched mouth.

My fingers bleed

And doubt seeds

Vicious weeds inside

An already

sick and nauseated mind.



There is hurt in here

And pain

And the bittersweet unspoken

refrain

Of one lost in their

Own directionless

Domain.



These walls I built, alone.

That stare back careless

And greet me daily with their

Cold embrace.



In this darkness, alone,

I, us, we,

cry.

Small children,

Whimpering in this feeling

of self chafed friction.

Whining,

each whine followed by

Gutteral, viscous, primal mutterings

These madman

Me, myself and i

Locked in a tunnel

Without light

It is cold and we want so badly

To relight the fire



I

claw at the fortification

I have erected

Around myself

Then bleed some more

Until the walls in front of me turn from

la mort noire to

rouge de sang



Sitting here

In this

Abyss.

Blinded by the inability to see

The incapacity to feel

Anything but the feeling of failure.

This powerlessness to heal,

All sealed up and drowning

in my private pool of mud.



Still it is dark in here,

And wet,

And bloodied

And brooding.

The cold walls are soothing

And the veil still acts

To conceal

The extent of filth

Scourging up the walls

Of this inaudible and bidding cave.

Crying,
deep, gutteral, gnarled crying,
ugly and cracked,
broken and chaotic,
forced up by my heart [sense of betrayal],
lodges itself in my throat.

Left so unjustly done,
stood up and abandoned,
because it was hung from a rope and left to rot.

For twenty three hours and forty five minutes.

Taunted.

And yet,
it feels

nothing.

My paper heart can feel Nothing at all.

I don't know why
you say these platitudes of goodness

Simply repeating the same thing
over and over
broken, scratching records
skipping needles
and hearts

You're not coming from a place of a pure soul and a beautiful spirit
I don't know what it is
if it's indifference,
jealousy, envy...
wishful thinking?

Well our boat is sinking
A perfect cliche
"say what you mean and mean what you say"
I can't do ambiguous

I hope you find peace with your demons
angry, gutteral enemies
dragging you to hell
at night
not kicking and screaming
you cannot find the light
from a place of selfish
egotistical narcissism and intentions to only help yourself
Good luck Chuck.

Cherie Nolan© 2016

On the day of worship the Temple filled.
It had been three years since the Messiah left, and nobody had forgotten.

The Priests of Tek dawned their red robes
and Father John Misty took his place at the altar, his heart heavy yet full of chagrin.

He clears his throat,
my fellow children of yonder Year,
my sisters of Sand,
my brothers of Dust,
my lovers of Greed,
here now what I say,
for I speaketh not.

for now speaks The Shrike,
for now speaks The Lord of Atonement,
your God of Pain,
your mystifying Excellence of Death.

Father Misty reached into his black robe and drew forth a small child.
What life may have been left in the infant was destroyed when Father John Misty stuck the unmoving body onto the red spike protruding from the altar, the spike entering the body through the ****, and reaching an inch from the soft skull.

Father John Misty's voice took on a lower town, yet softer, not forgiving, yet all knowing.

This child has a name.
This child is Jesus Christ.
This child will grow as if alive.
And before the rough congregations eyes the child began to grow on the spire. The limbs first lengthened, than filled out. The child's chest expanded and the head grew bigger. Father Misty then hoisted him off of the spire, and set him, bleeding, before the congregation. The body began to shift, jerky movements before the skin appeared to bubble. A low gutteral sound began to emanate from now full grown man. He lifted his torso and head up and looked at each member of The Temple of Ten individually.

He spoke

I am your savior,
I am unfruitful death,
I am unwarranted pain,
I am money being cheated from the desperate man,
I am the brains taken from a lobotomite,
I am the destruction of a hurricane,
I am as dead as the gasoline you **** for,
I am as dead as you are.

I am Jesus Christ,
this is not the first time you've seen me,
this will not be the last.
You are allowed to die now.

And they did.

Aimless in wander brain chases feet
     a path this never was before
Break all the borders slave of the street
     tonight you sail the boat ashore

Fortune is written ye who believe
     may find it in a light dessert
Bakers of cookies aim to deceive
     tonight you stick your head in dirt

****** in practice gutteral mind
     to take the queen of clubs to bed
Or else just wander what can you find
      in the recesses of road head

Cruise ship grounded the ticket lied
     never got to Georgia strait
In missed encounters potential trips
     some company with to vacate

Break all the borders slave of the street
     or sit alone and count the days
Aimless in wander brain chases feet
     silence kills in many ways

i've created me a monster
i built him and i set him free
i've made a man-like monster
i breathed electrical breaths into his body

i've created me a monster
and he hates me for it so...

now, my creature- he is lost
wild and decaying out there
only by my mark on his skin
can you know that he is mine

and his strange gutteral sounds
they desparingly resound
from walls all around
in my head abound....

what have i done?

What kind of Sin dares Usher in
A devious man to lick his lips, gutteral gasping beneath his Breath
The Wonton Musing oozes a delicious Decay,
The Poured Out drooling, his Power Pulsing, A Foaming Fantasy Power Tripping
~to Control the Spiritual World
at his Will & Command?

Here's what he imagined:
Biblical Bribery.
Blasphemous Forgery
Who ever has the money or an Unbridled hand can piecemeal a Story for premeditated Zeal,
To make for a more attractive Appeal
Why need such profiled Idoltry?

To be Present
at the Moment of such a Powerful Man's Revelation, Spoken for and too You
To be blessed
with ears to hear Him
To worship
At the Alter of Salt
A pillar miraculous,
To Worship Within, in Him, beside Him.
A Scribe Sweats
To write furiously away
for later reference, Thus
Attention is spared and the Sermon Deemed for Organic Lackluster
"Scratch That
Oops
Edit
Kindly Repeat
Didn't quite catch That
Delete
Revise
Rephrase
Two or One spaced per Sheet?
The strain hurts my Eyes
When can We Break for Feast?
Are We Done for the Day?"

Can this be a possiblity
Can a misdirected, Unsupervised
Scrupulous Individual
Not quietly Misquote
The Word trianguled from Mouth to Pen to Paper?
The Words We have come to Believe In??
You Tell Me.....

my chest is as smoke, the atoms
are too far apart
from
each
other, and otherwise
like a half-knit-yarn-scarf
fingers dug in and pulled, and
pulled
until the knots all
hung loose
rattling, rattling
there was a nothing there
and i was nothing for
more than a moment.
her voice on the line
was the fog that seeped
around my mind
still seeps up from
the grating now
I am flat, crumbling
stone
loosely in the ground now
pelted by rain and cold
I am cold fever chill
I am the hollow, drifting
gutteral and weakened howl
of the wind, whipping
now languidly, now violently at
my father's tombstone.
His name is carved out
the open grating between my shoulders
he left this world, woken
in the dead of night
in the pain of death
fading to confusion
to the loss of voluntary
and involuntary function
he raised his arms
opened his mouth soundlessly
and wept wide-eyed
into the frozen-form.
the scene of my absence
is the broken record
the image that haunts
I can picture vividly
the sofa he laid on, the burgundy carpet
the bad-body smells
of death, and incontenance
the flashing lights
of a too-late ambulance
the echoes and shadows and smells
clung to and possessed the walls, the floor
for months after
the echo of his open mouth
and open eyes, animal  
it is a home again now, I think
but
I am a shade of
his fear, his reduction, his
soundlessness.

It's ******* humid again outside.
The sweat is dripping,
streaming down my back,
it feels like slippery ants,
powderpuff.
There was a time
when you couldn't wait
to ******* brine.
You'd rip my pants off,
delicately.
You had *****
bigger than most guys,
I loved them
swinging
between your milky thighs.
The gutteral sounds you made
told me you were sunk,
so smitten,
in a dream state.
And when
I tasted our elixir,
you became lost
in another dimension.
Do you hear my calling?
It's ******* humid again outside.
I want to swallow us
whole,
you beautiful holy child
with wicked
sienna eyes.

The eerie silence was broken
by the lone tiger,
sending its warning in gutteral tones,
only to be upstaged
by the screaming monotone
of the wailing-siren,
a reminder of death & destruction
& similar to prey notes.

Whenever I ride in the countryside
On the further side of the hill,
I can see the new church steeple, rising
Over the fields and rills,
Then I venture down to the valley, on
The Little Newhampton side,
And see the wreck of the ancient church
And remember the day it died.

Its blackened stone lies wide to the sky,
Its rafters lie in the nave,
If God was passing that fateful day
He thought it too late to save,
The lightning bolt that shattered his cross
Went on to set it on fire,
The lectern, pews, of Reverend Buse
Conspired to burn on his pyre.

They found his skull, all covered in ash
But the rest of him had gone,
Had flown his soul with its blackened wings
To a feast on the Eve of John,
He was known to hold a Satanic Mass
On the night of the Witches Moon,
But the Bishop’s men were ******* his track
And would have defrocked him soon.

His congregation was always sparse,
For the good folk stayed away,
They’d heard strange rumours of what went on
With the Squire, and the Widow Hay,
They locked themselves behind cedar doors
And called on the god of wrath,
With lighted candles, inverted cross,
Laid out on the altar cloth.

The evening of the lightning strike
The leadlight flickered and flashed,
And screams rang out in the early hours
As a black cat hurried past,
For then the windows had glowed bright red
To herald a presence there,
While a deep, loud gutteral voice rang out
To foul and corrupt the air.

‘Where are my churls and underlings,
My troglodytes and my trolls?
Tonight is the night of sundering
Each evil heart from its soul!’
The Squire burst out, made a run for it
And tried to leap on his horse,
But the old black mare took him back in there,
And somebody slammed the doors.

And that was when the lightning struck,
It flashed, and shattered the cross,
The blazing roof came tumbling down
And the Widow Hay was lost.
They never found the Squire or his horse,
But I think that’s just as well,
They’re probably roasting chestnuts, down
In the seventh circle of Hell!

David Lewis Paget

There was a gloom in his eyes. A dark, washed
out gloom where all colour faded to grey
and demons spun their webs to lay in.
An absent, forgotten realm of colour
crumbles away in his hands and becomes dust
slipping from his grasp as the cold, thieving
wind snatches it from his palms. Even ice
can't withstand the harsh, bruised winters
in his heart. It shatters with deep, gutteral
screams as the cracks reach to the core
of his world, a world of black and white
disintegrating with every rattled breath
he somehow manages to draw between
the dried, broken skin of his lips.
Life is not life, where each day is walking
into an ocean of dust
hoping to finally drown.

In the middle of the desert i found a calling
In the center of the city i stumbled falling
Fumbled my chances the beast is crawling
Crumbled into chaos the rhythm keeps stalling

Chant and cry but wipe it clear
Suspicious thought no Cheer or fear
Nothing to hold when theres nothing too close
So here be clear and make the toast
Who gets this weeks thorny rose

Lets see you recover your dreams
Where Locked up you find, no rather
You discover
That Isolation is a land for another
You dont fit in
You're half born of sin
Everything wrong
The sirens song
An now in conflict with the person within
Barely a scratch that you take on the chin
Without blowing up
And breaking him.

of wind

chill my sternum

make new friends come, and they make conversation pleasant, please let me be


vibrant

hesitant, chills, chilly, distant voices, calling

wild, wild, ways, of their habits, their songs, vibrato

core gutteral gashes at the spasm, reaching for a bit of relaxation, reaching for a bit of calm, perhaps of acceptance

people

nothing but with an added extra something, life is the whipping cream

flakey

but delicious


blown over a thousand times, over again, again

wanting, yearning, looking for answers, built up an array of

prejudice

devoid of feeling, over time, and craving new things

and days go by

but i felt a distance between us after you curled into me and squeezed my hips in bliss
and pleasure and moans and groans
i wondered why you didn't kiss me,
distance,
i almost felt like i'd been dis-respected by the ghost of your lips on me -
when my hair was tangled in your right tight fist
you pinned me down with your left hand by my wrist,
listen, love...
there's still something that i miss about the way that i felt in the beginning -
something that i am willing to be angry about, *******, i want to scream out and shout, these doubts are clouding my ******* mind -
i can't seem to think as straight as i used to take such pride in.

maybe that's why i couldn't stop the tears running down my face
before i even realized i had felt an emptiness in my chest
that marinated in some kind of broken heart over something...
i still miss something...

i don't know why i cried,
when you closed your eyes and i shamefully picked up a towel
to wipe my ******* dignity off my thighs.
you were snoring gutteral z's that echoed off spiky hotel ceilings
before i had a chance to ask
if you needed me.
to give you a hand
with anything else.