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

Our spleens exploded
And I think it killed us.

Sometimes he was like f+ck it
just went ahead and stuck em
let em fall where they stood
crack another bottle and brood
hysterically on the ridiculous
he had a meticulous knack for belittling the serious, berating feelings and imposing his will in a furious fashion. He liked knives and passion, and will cash in on your lashings. A vigilante, stealing antes to match the chips. The missing teeth of split lipped grinns bidding his amends to the dense. sent to cleanse, the fences on the perimeter. a distributor of disasters.
contributor to the laughter in the stoical spleens of nerdy teens, always cheering for the away team.
He was the benefactor of traction-less tractors rotting in the mud. He was a slacker, smothering the world in love. He was above all else, on drugs.

It began, as these things often do
With darkened skies and all around
The night had paused to draw a breath
And through the streets rebounded sound
A slow and steady fall of foot
I stepped the cobbles free of care
My eyes were drinking vivid light
A fragrance tangled on the air

My purpose set
My heart a grim quartet

The door was mere scenery
A sight to see but not recall
The passing gaze is pushed away
And sees there, just another wall
No movement could I hear within
My knuckles whitened on the knock
Relief recoiled hastily
A scratching from the rusted lock

My fingers clenched
Anxiety deeply entrenched

The woodwork inched a little back
A brow bedecked in withered hair
A pupil sharp as autumn frost
Surveyed me with a butchers glare
Her voice, a blade across my mind
Invited me to step inside
A shiver shook my frozen bones
My feet took up a timid stride

Her tone shallow
Her skin like warm tallow

Within was soaked in tepid gloom
In candle light the shadows danced
The flames grew quick and paranoid
And leaned away as I advanced
Behind me scurried shut the door
And down my spine, an angel tear
A leather chair of ages past
Held consort with my falling rear

She sat near
And whispered in my ear

With lizards hiss and jagged tone
In fragrances of smoke and gin
She sprinkled such a parable
That tingles bounced across my skin
My mission lay ahead of me
But caution of a reckless choice
A curse that fed on failure
And menace edged her ebon voice

Salvation awaited
But hope swiftly abated

Away into the night I strode
My razor wits with terror blunt
I packed a satchel prudently
For sustenance about the hunt
A dagger dangled on my hip
A bow and quiver on my back
Its bowstring plaited spider web
Was ever strong and never slack

Horizon bound
I broke the ****** ground

My quarry was a worthy foe
And many days I tracked until
By moonlight on a starless night
I caught a glimpse and stopping still
A sight I've struggled to forget
My bounty and my nemesis
Was bounding past me heedlessly
As fear wrought paralysis

Eyes like death
****** hung on its breath

It stood a daunting seven foot
With talons jutting from its hands
A mass of quills and tentacles
With extra spleens and mucus glands
A mouth with room for seven men
And teeth the size of ironing boards
A single but enormous eye
With lashes like a row of swords

My face paled
My bladder faultered and soon failed

I faced my prey and crossed my legs
My stricken blood had turned froth
I ****** myself in abject fear
But stopped just short of touching cloth
I turned about and ran away
While screaming out profanity
And crying like a baby
And adopting Christianity

Pleading with fate
My pride a sorry state

I fled the county swiftly
Finding shelter inside a cave
My punishment for failure
Would see me to my grave
And so I existed in exile
Eating only what I caught
In time the wind grew colder
And the days were ever short

Winter grips
The solar zenith slips

I huddle to this very day
Amid the gloom with frozen breath
And keeping warm is paramount
For stretching life, postponing death
Though purely for survival
While I weather every storm
I've taken to bumming weasels
As a means of keeping warm

Blunt trauma
Weasel skin *****-warmer

Finding something on the road
And serving it for dinner
Buying dresses far too small
And thinking you look thinner
Solar powered submarines
Broken ribs or ruptured spleens
Driving cars and drinking beers
Lightbulb licking, bad ideas

Knowing where you shouldn't be
And being there despite
Going out in thunderstorms
To fly your iron kite
Sharing needles with a shark
Going to Mansfield after dark
Setting fire to someone's ears
Telemarketing, bad ideas

Not deploying gaffer-tape
When doing D.I.Y.
Believing the implausible
While branding truth a lie
Replying to Nigerian Princes
**** bleach and ******* rinses
Tabloid papers touting fears
Voting UKIP, bad ideas

Impersonating ******
Before nineteen forty-five
Catching a train on Sunday
And assuming you'll arrive
Turning lights on with your nose
Eating food that moves or glows
Listening to Britney Spears
Marmite Pringles, bad ideas

**

Ah, so stately art t'ou, my prince-
prone as th' night, comely as th' moon.
And wakeful is my sorrow;
for waiting for thee-
is not at all th' same
as greeting him soon.
How all t'ese senses remain so numb!
Love, as 'twas first fierce ye'a living dumb,
now as insignificant as a thumb,
and th' fame t'at surrounded was breath
beforeth turning bald and corny as death.
I figure t'ou art now out of my air;
as nothingness like t'is
tears and usurps my hair.
Pursuit of falsehood, pursuit of greed,
is but a seed t'at makes my heart bleed.
Leaves t'at art fake within my torso,
art now crying-and pleading
Just like a cheeky little girl;
unreal as we were,
as t'ou but still t'en-belonged to 'er.

And just like our former sins,
silent but threatening-
thy goneness hath parted me
from my dear'st everything.
Ah, my limbs, my shins,
my lungs, my spleens,
art but now scanty and unawake!
And since t'ere's no give,
thus no more t'ere's take!
How t'ese shadows t'at our hearts made,
now alone and whimper and fade;
startling all over t'is notorious silky winter-
silly as our dear laughter,
but satirical-and edgeless as fate.

And bland, bland, bland;
o-how severely, and dreamily bland!
Thy ever gallantry and morning wit-
so well as charms t'at hath left my cheeks lit!
And with a smile I found so sweet,
to my long black hair t'ou would flirt!
But wherefore art t'ou, now, o my love?
My Russian gem, and prince alike!
Would t'ose mountains in thy Moscow-
be as dazzling as our tomorrow?
And be th' chamber of our dreams-
whereupon thou shalt rolleth into mine,
singeth and reciteth altoget'er our tales
with a glass of ****** wine-
tasty and delicate as our daring gales,
but complicated as we might dwelleth-
and be lost in one anot'er, in our shell.

And ah-comfort, comfort, comfort!
Our dear passion t'at wasth stopped short,
but hath now replied to me
within th' circles of its own balmy nakedness-
and see, my love-how canst it just not, conceal its bareness!
How on one morning shalt tread our foot,
beneath th' sun t'at shines, undereth daylight t'at shoots-
and across our greyish moors and t'eir roots-
all our charms, woes, and reveries-
canst but unite into one again,
as I hath thus dreameth 'twixt yester's rain,
and alloweth our smot'ered course to remain.
Ah, Vladimir, and of course as plainly but sure-
I still long to turn thee to my treasure;
but love is bold and far too inadequate
to our desolate dreamland;
and might be too cynical-
thus unbearable; to just my dearest, dearest friend.
How sometimes I wish to be free!
And obediently disentwineth my hand;
'fore to thee I gratefully bend.

But desires, desires of t'ese, canst only be despair;
and 'till now our meeting hath just been too late.
Tragic as our souls shalt re-main alone, and not ever pair;
as I hath now one else 'ere to date;
as innocent as we wert-could hath he been unt'ere;
whenst I gazed but into thy shadowy eyes-
ones so full of comical mystery, and manhood t'at lies!
O, Vladimir, but still-tears cannot be our pale answer;
whenst our hearts could but suffer;
and secret love; our sole-ye' joyless matter.

And tough, tough needst we be, just like t'is poem-
just by its battered hands on a piece of paper.
But strong, strong and guiltless my heart may be-
dreams of which it cannot lower-
as t'ou art here not with me, o dear lover!
Ah, Vladimir, th' skies above
art still my beauteous, but neglect'd view;
trifling to my veins, as it never knew.
And thus, Vladimir, as it shalt again glow
my heart shalt be with thee in cold Moscow,
as thou danceth and befriendeth
our triumphant tomorrow.

Returneth t'en should I into my clock,
drencheth myself in my best frock;
and waiteth for on my door his knock.
Ah, and whenst later t'is be over-
shalt I but dreameth of thee again-
a guilty, but flawless-as how
a waking dream should be!
A dream, ah, andeth with it still,
a peaceful dream-
in which I canst feel thee against me-
teasing my soul and rubs my knee,
and weaves thy love, into my veins.
Poison me-o, poison me, my love!
And riseth thou t'ere-as my own knight;
within our dark; but stainless night.

There once was a queen bee from Iowa
Who had opinions of her own persona
Her subjects weren't a happy crew
With her self praising points of view
The egotistical queen irked her subject's spleens

The spleen can be a peculiar thing
Riding high just above the jeans
When it no longer serves its purpose
And the doctors say that it must leave

Oh how the spleen once stood so proud
With the vertebrates in the local crowd
Now we give it the old collage wave
As the doctors toss it out

Where it goes nobody knows
To spleen heaven? Do they have those?
If all dogs go to heaven
Then with spleens we can only hope

That one day we will reunite
With our missing spleens in paradise
If you ask me that sounds real nice
I just hope they keep it on ice

It really is odd, how we started out,
I had come from a relationship gone bad,
I really needed a friend.
In the most amazing coincidence, you saved my life,
You came to be my friend.

What happened next,
Our newly found friendship was so exciting,
How we made each other laugh,
And joked about smiling spleens,
Our friendship exploded with activity.

How you invited me over,
The night before your birthday just to hang out,
How we found each other locking lips, you in my lap,
How pure our feelings became in such a short time,
Oh, how our hearts were racing that night.

The next day was special,
It was magic, how we bonded,
The closeness between us, how cute everyone said we were,
How scared I was that day,
To ask you to be mine.

You said yes, and the next few months –
They were some of the best months of our lives,
We understood each other, poured our hearts and minds out,
It was so crazy how we just
Made each other happy.

Everybody saw it,
People gossiped about how cute we were and how perfect,
We really were so perfect, came together and became so invincible,
I still remember how,
How we fell in love.

The whole spring,
The amazing feelings every day, how wonderful things were,
We both found no ******, the love kept building and building,
Every look, every sound, every kiss,
We found true love.

But when we found true love,
Our love was everything, we began to see each other in the purest sense,
It became more than being carried away by infatuations and desires,
We found something special,
We weren't just a couple.


In all of that specialness,
I told myself I'd always love you, because I knew what I saw in you,
You were more than my girlfriend, you became the best friend I'd ever had,
Almost a sister to me, the peace of mind, the calm,
We found nirvana.

Then came June,
What started with a bang ended in such tragedy, I didn't foresee such horrible consequences,
Our love was so strong, but how quickly our advances became regressions,
I then regretted so much, I lost my calm, I became unsettled,
We became a train derailed.

Transitioning to July,
We never really got the train back up and running,
It was damaged from the derailment, it didn't want to move, we got so scared,
I became frantic, I became mean, cruel, cold-shoulder was almost my middle name,
How I'd forever be sorry.

I said hello to August,
When you were afraid of me because I'd become an animal,
When I saw it in your eyes it was almost too late,
You'd spent too many days crying, depressed, your parents began to hate me too,
I'd not been around for you.

Autumn began,
The leaves fell off the trees, and I tried so hard to please, but I couldn't,
Your eyes were so empty, your parents were fuming, I knew I let you down,
Oh, how hard I was kicking myself for being so awful to the love of my life,
Who didn't want to know me.

Today,

It took a little time after all of this for me to gather my brains.
You see, you were so much more to me than a lover, more than the love of my life.
You saved my life, from the beginning, and it's not my emotional justification but the truth.
You taught me how to be happy, made me forget how to hate myself.
You put so much color into my world, you sang me new songs.
The lengths to which I'd go to be the smile on your face again are far too great for my own good.

I wasn't in love with you. I loved you.
You as a person. Your brain, your soul, your will, your body.
You see, you'd become my soul mate, not my ****** partner.
You'd become someone I'd love forever, even if you didn't love me back, even if you were gone.
In a way, you became my sister, my freedom, my truth, my goal, my promise, and you grew on me.
You grew like the most beautiful gardens, you became what I lived for.

In the end, you were many wonderful things, but mainly one --
My trust.

we are people; there are no deities that love us more than we love ourselves.
it’s deep, but we’ve got that love buried in us, somewhere.
behind blackened lungs, broken hearts, ruptured spleens and shattered vertebrae, maybe we’ll find that love.
what i have learned in my years of searching, is this:
you’ll never find what you want, but if you are honest with yourself, it may find you.

i’ll spit in a wishing well, walk on a dimly lit highway and dive head first into shallow water all because i want to.  i will forever walk that line that divides decency and insanity.  that is my place and i love it.

Mandibles make their own hoarding,
but they do not make it as they please;
they do not make it under semiconductor-selected civilians,
but under civilians existing already, given and transmitted from the past.

The trailer of all dead gentians weighs like a nipper
on the brandishes of the lob.
And just as they seem to be occupied with revolutionizing themselves and thistles,
creating something that did not exist before, precisely

in such equipments of rheostat crochet they anxiously conjure up the spleens
of the past to their setter, bother from them nappies, bayonet slouches,
and cottons in *****-grinder to present this new scheme in wound hoarding
in timpanist-honored disincentive and borrowed larch.

Thus Luther put on the masseur of the Appearance Paul,
the Rhapsody of 1789-1814 draped itself alternately in the gully of the Rook Requisite and the Rook Empress,
and the Rhapsody of 1848 knew novelette bicentenary to do than to parsonage,
now 1789, now the rheostat trailer of 1793-95.

In like mantel, the belch who has learned a new larch always translates it backfire into his motor toot,
but he assimilates the spleen of the new larch
and exteriors himself freely in it only when he moves in it
without recalling the old and when he forgets his navy toot.

There's 6 million ways to die
6 billion ways of life
With trillions in spikes
The consequences of suffering is tight

The whole is different from the parts
So go and shoot the darts at arts
With the greater truth lost in faults
& lines of earthquakes made up of chalk

The black and white make a picture
With questions and answers
Signed, sealed, delivered, to manufacture
The guns, the pins, and then the triggers

Because the flicker of the red line
Attracts the dead signs in crime
But it's all put there by design &
As such is inclined to drink red wine

To drink away the influences
The static mother message
To save you from wreckage
But still you can't accept it

So you keep marching on
To the beats and the arms
Of the tons and the laws
Of the builders of structures hulls

But the ship of the manifest destiny
Is making these darker lovers weep
But not to sweep them off their feet
Because they still got tags to meet

So at that time it's ****** ******
By someone you've never heard of
Brothers and sisters dying is the motive
To make you strike allegiance and devotion

To the machine, you know what I mean?
That thing that clings to the righteous means
Of fighting the things that light their springs
On fire so their likeness is scorched and diseased

With no more jumping from danger
We all pledge allegiance to the stranger
Weak and meek boil over to anger
And the cycle repeats it's very nature

In other parts of the globe
Demonstrations as they poach
The thoughts that revoked
The morals that they approached

The oak of the one mind of life
Fires and rolling tires fill the night
Senseless mobs to LA riots, right?
The ship ends with ghost after fights

The consequences of suffering scenes
More terrible than any uttering dreams
The differences make the different mutter things
The majority stomps out the minorities and ruptures spleens

But maybe Cleopatra can get a handle
However at this time King Arthur is out of samples
The Great Alexander is even out of answers
And we can't count on Mayans with their calendars

So I say burn it all down
The future isn't known
They can try to keep you down
But they can't touch your soul

Melt all the luminescent gold
And use it to shower the poor
6 billion humans on the Globe
Like I said, the future isn't known

Because it's not televised,
But going against is ill advised,
So as one could surmise,
This is a butterfly,
Leaving a web of lies,
And finally making its long awaited flight...

The consequences of suffering:
The palm of the outstretched hand will strike.

Dibble bubble bubble
Written on shitely mearce
A stake to plunder crunch
Of politician Pierce
Colligan
To hollagans
Collagen appeal
Maketh dartboards out of heart boards
Wherein innocence tis real
Foughty daughty submarines
Climbs to ****** coarse
Follitine
Dreamers
Plot success Morse
Coffee beans
To livered spleens
Pains to shock the trike
Childress of a virtue
Seaps of anothers life
Trigulues
And bedulues
Smiling at the air
Drommatice
And romisis
Promises don't care
Foughty immense Brice
Pickled to shickled biles
***** of settle keaster ways
A blighty for the smile
Libertinth
And minants tint
Flight to bagbird heads
Crucifixed pixies
Twilight up ahead!!!

My mothers painful womb,
cut out and tossed away.
My first home
tossed away with
the surgical waste.
Thrown away
with appendixes
limbs
spleens
the fat from a trophy wife.
My first home.

I want to be a war machine

I want to rupture spleens with a gleam from my eye

I want to spread suffering in lines waiting for lies, just in time to ignite a stupendous sight in one phone call

I want the call to arms to be in the alarms of emergency vehicles

I want the residual survivors slaughtered after given my word as to the **** of every daughter in my New America

I want to just stare at ya as you plead to be spared

Beheaded and laughed upon, kicked down the stairs

I want to judge you

Smother you in your filth

In your guilt

I want to starve your kids with empty ingredients

I want to **** on my **** and smear it in your ears while beating it

I want to stare in each and every eye, as it dies with the burning sky in its frame

I want to scream the names of the slain, from burning castle walls and call, for lost love to return in the squirm of man

I want to demand, flesh from the best of the best, in a contest against the peasants

I want to topple your towers down, in tickling sounds, from trumpets bound in space

I want to spit in your face, drown you in doubts and smack you awake

I want to decimate your graves, and from the tenth left make, toilets for my torturers, in sweltered pits of **** remains

I want the world to shake in the hunger pains, of every fat ****** with burrito stains in his lingerie

I want to serenade an angelic raid, on your made up play, of plastic soldiers eaten by animatronic vultures, as I smolder the beaten toys on the floor

And I want

Really really want

More

I dig for treasure.
I dig for gold.
I dig for stories left untold.
I dig for passion hiding in the dark.
I dig for the meadow.
I dig for the lark.

I dig for knowledge.
I dig for truth.
I dig on paths already used.
I dig for people lacking spark.
I dig for a fire.
I dig for hearts.

I dig people.
I dig you.
You dig her,
she doesn't dig you.
She digs him,
He digs me,
and when we look up we see
past our shovels and mud,
we're all the same inside-
everyone.

We all have skin.
We all have bones.
We all have bodies.
We all have souls.
We all have livers.
We all have spleens.
We all have silence.
We all have screams.
We all have morals.
We all have lust.
And when we die,
We are all just dust.

I dig for treasure.
I dig for gold.
And I dig for dreams,
I dig for goals.
I dig not just for the future,
not just for the past.
I dig for the present.
Although it never lasts.

I dig for knowledge.
I dig for truth.
I dig for the trapped.
I dig for the abused.

I dig for you.
I dig for me.
I dig for everyone to see,
we are all just dust-
eventually.

I. Double edged swords

Every evening, spring keeps its marriage
to winter. Twilight is crazily quilt
in orange as purple with scattering grays, sage

stars calmly coalescing and being built
into constellations… The twilight air
imposed winter’s silence. People slit

these pavements as capricious walkers. There
is a squirrel within and out of trees, or cat
eating a rat in a squeaking swallow. Are

the homeless equal to BlackWater’s scrounging what
state alms exists? No…Night’s misery
is never silent, so unseen more---that

is civilization…****** of industry
are its captains. Blood subsidies, ****
ravage and revile Eve and Mary:

our Mothers in regret over humanity. Keep
Palestine’s Olive Tree in heart…
Eastern Star, and Western Constellations, weep

for the nameless and defenseless ramparts
of refugees: Moses again… Here in Queens,
Manhattan’s gaudy skyline rapports

a look of 11th Avenue’s Rahab’s face. Scenes
of red and blue, white broken teeth buildings
from too many *******, and pained spleens

of her here and there, everywhere, “It’s a living…”
Ugliness has a pretty face, it progresses…
Winter’s chill will soon be here, not forgiving

those who are homeless from God, homeless
from being brethren’s keepers. We are quick
winter. Death is us, and we are death, endless

because of our need for a monied physique .
Poems are for poets, sing. As you were silenced,
your song was written in winters oblique

in their endings, its prayers against the NKVD
KGB and un-repenting CIA, a spoken
covenant to the people, and the words rhymed  

against the powerful from Stalin to Reagan…
We’re blessed for the verbal and intellectual
knife of verse. We must sing against state’s sin.

As you did scrawling on soap bars habitual,
writing, with burnt matches, ritual.

II. Your Legend

Called ***** and nun, there’s a price
for being a poet: never sequestered
in black and white terms, clerk or captain
king or peasant, Christian or pagan:

our stamps earned in civilization.
By seeing things in gray, a poet intuits
monsters we knew as children are
real as warheads once aimed at one another.

Our hands, their lingering fingers and palms,
can either be nailed on a martyr’s arms,
or holding a scythe or Wesson. Your wishes
were fists wounding your heart---your anguishes.

Why did subtle music bloom from your lips?
Why hadn’t your tongue expressed bitterness
from the Muses of lonely Siberia
or **** bombs---destroying statues of Maria

in Saint Petersburg?  Why did your voice remain?
There are only questions about you, for
your  pain and joy seemed the same: you cried.
It surely seemed both should have died.

Drinking ***** was surcease from bureaucrats,
to your son’s exile to Siberia, these cruel cascades
of the state. Watch the platoons, and
see their eyes in long ceremonial parades

for the state’s saints: dying from heart attacks before
your mourned demise. Did one shed a tear?
Only posterity knows. As the present can infer,
veterans are always “was” and “were”, never now here…

In here, where the written word was a noose,
and sentences were genocide, thus a paragraph,
a stanza, or even an essay was inconceivable
horror people receiving an order’s end.

In here, where order promulgates,
where time is counted by snowflakes
where space is counted by snowflakes,
why is never asked, it’s just struck with, “Do.”

But, it was when despair was thick withered
winter branches, without hint of leaves or spring,
love needed anguish to show its strength
love needed this psaltery against death.


III. The seen and unseen

Thinking of you Anna, ah this world.
Then, as the world lives and does
as just bearing witness,
the guts to live and bear pain
is in the poet’s voice,
in the saint
the seemingly graceless soldier
******, Matthew, Saul, Romero.
Song found, song lost
Song of Songs,
the poet names the names
of all to give monsters and empires
a voice
to be seen and unseen,
with a cold lunar heart,
and to let prayer
come as souls decapitated from this Palestine,
this Armenia, this Navajo nation,
with a left-handed signature, tear written.

When a man and woman get married
A new language will unfold
The man knows not to question why
Just do what he is told

She never has to say a word
Men will see it in that glare
It's the look that men never speak about
The "You better not do that" stare

You know the one I speaking of
Like when a woman on the street passes by
And if she catches you sneaking a peek
You'll get that evil eye

Or when you say something stupid
And your wife starts shaking her head
You know the look I'm talking about
That one that says, "You're dead"

Or when you're at her mother's
You better not say a word
You know her eyes are watching you
Even though she's never heard

It doesn't need any definition
Cause men know what it means
It's the look than causes your heart to stop
And can even rupture their spleens

So when you learn this language
Your words will surely die
The look she'll give will be enough
To even make a grown man cry

Heaven clears its coward clouds
crows ascend and ravens caw
as a man unfazed and proud
greets aloud the Devil's maw

the land trembles at his spear
sunlight screaming on his shield
as his roar defeats the fear
and vibrates far into the field

the coming shadow of his foes
stretches further than he sees
so his gaze begins to glow
for he is where he's meant to be

a growl of courage and respect
rises from one hundred men
their lives ready to neglect
for those they'll never see again

the Earth quakes with endless herds
the burning sky begins to fall
his throat bulges its last words
and they bellow, "SHIELD WALL"

spears are laid their final hands
the heavy metal claps together
as brothers like their fathers stand
their mortal souls obtain forever.

In the veins where honor churns
the pulse of rage begins to tear
for the men who won't return
there is not a life to spare

and so it is

on a rock an ocean crashes
today men, tomorrow ashes
spear thrusts and shield smashes
for the lakes and for the grasses
for the name that never passes
and the star that always shines
their motherland, asleep behind
with the old and with the blind
with the children and the wives
the very womb that gave them lives

faces crack against their steel
footmen cry and captains kneel
a line of slaughter walled by zeal
brings each wave of slaves to heel
while the vultures praise their meal
the blade is swung, the pain ignored
necks are slit and skulls are gored
legs are worn and arms are sore
as fervor beats the chest's encore
like thunder drums the hum of war

blood with sweat in dust is bathed
no son is spared, no farewell bade
no grave is made, no boatman paid
a god was deaf when mothers prayed
alone they march the death parade
as the birds consume their spleens
all that's left is silent trees
who as tombs attend the scene
to absorb unto their gleam
what it's like to have been free

over yonder, in freedom somewhere
a daughter's silent cry implores
for her seesaw is still there
but its maker is no more.

A discomfort that manifests through a plethora of delusions
Torturous thoughts brutalizing my mind like brain contusions
Causing an endless cycle of suffering and confusion
Sifting through the lies, misunderstandings, and illusions
Chasing the light in the darkness praying for it’s diffusion
A razor blade or a bullet are the only solutions

I’m sailing near the fringes of happiness and despair
Along the river of misery where our souls are stripped bare
On the border of the ignorant who live life without a care
And the knowledgeable hanging from nooses painfully aware
It’s a tumultuous journey to the light bringers lair
And should not be undertaken lightly so you must beware
Of all the deceit, misinformation, traps and snares

Self reflection is a dark wooded path filled with lynched souls
A forest of decaying dreams, aspirations, and goals
Endless entrances and passageways to endless rabbit holes
Demons feasting upon children without restraint or control

They say on the other side there’s sunshine and pastures of green
Crystal clear waters and ceremonies where angels convene
Blue sky’s and warm weather where everyone’s just peachy keen
But all I foresee is warfare, cancer victims, and ruptured spleens
Genocide, systematic **** and all things obscene

Before the death has gripped me
I have not know what is - free
Gleefuly sprawled in the darkness to be
Seen, eating spleens of the fiends.

I leaned towards overthinking
With no real thinking to be done
all games and fun, untill I've pointed the gun
Shunned by society, I've been shunning myself
Thinking, success will lift off my stress
Regardles, I've failed to impress the press

This is the moment, Death has Gripped me
Cut me, ****** me and it struck me
I've been lucky, but a bit too cocky

I see no love in the deep web
Of useless cred, I've shed in the net.

Lying in the basement, poorly lit
Seeing the truth, Death Gripped.

It began, as these things often do
With darkened skies and all around
The night had paused to draw a breath
And through the streets rebounded sound
A slow and steady fall of foot
I stepped the cobbles free of care
My eyes were drinking vivid light
A fragrance tangled on the air

My purpose set
My heart a grim quartet

The door was mere scenery
A sight to see but not recall
The passing gaze is pushed away
And sees there, just another wall
No movement could I hear within
My knuckles whitened on the knock
Relief recoiled hastily
A scratching from the rusted lock

My fingers clenched
Anxiety deeply entrenched

The woodwork inched a little back
A brow bedecked in withered hair
A pupil sharp as autumn frost
Surveyed me with a butchers glare
Her voice, a blade across my mind
Invited me to step inside
A shiver shook my frozen bones
My feet took up a timid stride

Her tone shallow
Her skin like warm tallow

Within was soaked in tepid gloom
In candle light the shadows danced
The flames grew quick and paranoid
And leaned away as I advanced
Behind me scurried shut the door
And down my spine, an angel tear
A leather chair of ages past
Held consort with my falling rear

She sat near
And whispered in my ear

With lizards hiss and jagged tone
In fragrances of smoke and gin
She sprinkled such a parable
That tingles bounced across my skin
My mission lay ahead of me
But caution of a reckless choice
A curse that fed on failure
And menace edged her ebon voice

Salvation awaited
But hope swiftly abated

Away into the night I strode
My razor wits with terror blunt
I packed a satchel prudently
For sustenance about the hunt
A dagger dangled on my hip
A bow and quiver on my back
Its bowstring plaited spider web
Was ever strong and never slack

Horizon bound
I broke the ****** ground

My quarry was a worthy foe
And many days I tracked until
By moonlight on a starless night
I caught a glimpse and stopping still
A sight I've struggled to forget
My bounty and my nemesis
Was bounding past me heedlessly
As fear wrought paralysis

Eyes like death
****** hung on its breath

It stood a daunting seven foot
With talons jutting from its hands
A mass of quills and tentacles
With extra spleens and mucus glands
A mouth with room for seven men
And teeth the size of ironing boards
A single but enormous eye
With lashes like a row of swords

My face paled
My bladder faltered and soon failed

I faced my prey and crossed my legs
My stricken blood had turned froth
I ****** myself in abject fear
But stopped just short of touching cloth
I turned about and ran away
While screaming out profanity
And crying like a baby
And adopting Christianity

Pleading with fate
My pride a sorry state

I fled the county, took my leave
And made my shelter in a cave
My punishment for failure
Would see me to my early grave
And so I lived in solitude
Consuming only what I caught
In time the wind grew perilous
And hours of light were ever short

Winter grips
The solar zenith slips

I huddle to this very day
Amid the gloom with frozen breath
And keeping warm is paramount
For stretching life, postponing death
Though purely for survival
While I weather every storm
I've taken to bumming weasels
As a means of keeping warm

Blunt trauma
Weasel skin *****-warmer

It lived in a time
of not ruin and war
but of where cyber bullies and college core classes
lived in the spur

Of the moment,  of the long run
don't shift the audience's attention to the fallen
who work for $7-8.00 an hour
while the world tastes the fast food; greasy fake and sour

Where the only laughter
spawned from integrity and love
but when up close revealed instead selfishness and lust
as their true colors
are not the bright red, pink, blue
but are instead the shadowy parts of them that suffer
the rotting colors of remorse anger and death
and fear and sorrow too

Of not making it into college
of not living the dream
no dreams are made up of teams
although it always does seem
that our teams are made up of
spleens of broken shards
of other dreams
that were never meant to be

It doesn't know how to live for itself
without bending to the demands of others
surrounded by inhumane ******* it is compelled
to look upon the devils as fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers

Family---PAH!--- what does it mean
it means blood related flaws and neurons and genes
nothing else more to love and be seen
of all the blood types not one is serene
enough to refrain from spilling any other's blood onto the scene

It's world is ruled by technology combined with lust
the kind that urges them to live in either
the moment or the future
yes they must die doing something they love
or at least die trying.

Don’t be like Edgar Greed,
He’s what we call bad company,
He would stab his own family,
If it meant making money.

Don’t be like Edgar Greed,
He’s the type of phony,
That skips alimony,
Yeah the type that is all me,me,me.

They say loose lips sink ships,
Cement wrapped on the leg,
Swimming with the fish.
Cementing a trap for those that wag.
Their tails to save their skins.
In a bed filled with feds instead of fibs.
Woffing in a stench of pig on their lips.
Sweating like they had a surprise pop quiz,
Looking as if they awakened spiritually,
Mumbling words incoherently,
Got one wondering what gives.
It’s as if a wire is tied around their necks.
But in actuality that wire is on their chest.
Trying their best to catch,
Someone as they confess,
So that cops in bullet proof vests,
Can swoop in and everyone’s under arrest.
The type of people like Edgar Greed,
Who will do anything to try to remain free.
A snitch who acts like a G.
But is really a sheep that wears wolves clothing.

Don’t be like Edgar Greed,
He’s what we call bad company,
He would stab his own family,
If it meant making money.

Don’t be like Edgar Greed,
He’s the type of phony,
That skips alimony,
Yeah the type that is all me,me,me.

A Smaug *** *****,
That’s all about getting rich,
A person who wants to hit a home run dash,
But rather than working gets smashed,
Or Snorting so much coke,
Basically their whole life is a ******* joke.
It a wonder how this snitch can still sniff.
I wouldn’t be be surprised,
If kissing peoples *** was their favourite dish.
And If loose lip sink ships,
They’d be the ******* titanic.
Who pretends to be pragmatic,
When they are actually dogmatic,
Who wants it all but will end up like hamlet.
But don’t feel bad for fools like Edgar Greed,
For they are a type of being that deceives,
Whose schemes ream spleens,
People like that are like poisonous seeds,
That if not managed will turn to weeds,
That spreads a disease that’s feeds,
Off the incompetence of dweebs.
So...

Don’t be like Edgar Greed,
He’s what we call bad company,
He would stab his own family,
If it meant making money.

Don’t be like Edgar Greed,
He’s the type of phony,
That skips alimony,
Yeah the type that is all me,me,me.