She hated lewd offers
but thought, as she fled rationality

"Taboo and Transgression reflect two contradictory urges"

there is a deficiency
a feeling as if
dormice gnawed on her tender heart
unthreading her very being

"The taboo would forbid
the transgression but the fascination compels it"

in the old school
fearless foul mouthed men
with granite shoulders and hero's chests
knew how to take a woman

"Please Master"
Please master can I touch your cheek
please master can I kneel at your feet

yet she would lose herself
caring for nothing but
the spilling
of her clitoral jeweled incandescence
into kingdom come

mystery woman
with a **** in hand
plays the piccolo
in a hot swing band

out of the question
was dissolute lust
its quivering equivocations
of undoing and redoing
in a torment of feeling,
as if blood thirsty
disavowing, yet starved for love
like a cry of the void

her throat  
a spiral armed galaxy
her heart and ****
hounded moons*

the feminist

(Sitting on Santa's lap)

Me: "I want a dragon"
Santa: "Nope, too dangerous"
Me: "Ok, then I want a boyfriend"
Santa: "What color dragon?"

i sometimes drift into
memories of love

          illegible conciousness

oh Venus
my sweet *****
you're never easy
always mutilating
those archives of the heart
with their inky Rorschach's
and blood drop tears
that needle eyes
like burning hell
bare and bent
in a dazzling labor
of marshy dahlia lips

       cleaver teeth to tear

the world spins
synoptic nightmares
beyond critiques paradox
in quarries of
****** sacrifice
dead goats
and karmas black militant columns
baring a thousand scourges
in condemnation
of Mayas colossal shadows

       i depend on her

docile bodies
rise from immortal beds
covered in drapes
over slattern harams   
in hallucinatory temples
that make me pause
jinxed
and fall from myself
into your moist
timeless root
of dreams

       dust through my fingers

odalisques move
in binding layers
****** and shuddering
concubines in mills of lust
that smear
chiaroscuros-laden shades

      a blood stained door marked no exit

i speak
unspeakable tenderness
to the sacred Goddess
displacing the steep lead pit of sighs
and saturating gravity
towards crystal fountain showers
heavenward
in the religion of no religion

      Gods your daddy

i move
trigger - coiled
past retinas intake
from the sacral
through the crown

      om shanti om

am i not
this spume-brained monkey
both primal and sacred
vibrating arcane chants
in windowed clouds Samadhi
and clinging breathless breath

      what ever you think the opposite is true

am i not this atheist
drinking from her
slippery cup
where miracles leap
plump and smiling
as she holds my head
into her weeping ache

       i am red  with love

are we not all
the ineffable one
among the multitudes

      one hand clapping

what use is obedience
to lore and dogma
or whether the
God that burns in you
believes in God at all

      people who believe in God have no faith

i just read your poem Anne
about your desolated masturbations
after you fell through
into that atomized monoxide
dream of pantomimes glittering
vague shapes and black holes
where slumber sinks
and silence rolls

we couldn't follow
you into your
receding suicide labyrinth
of timeless echoes
past those dire meadows
of serpentine fires
and shrouds you saw
where life eclipsed
by cosmic law

so i read you
one of my black little pieces
of erotomania
headless Barbie ejaculations
all Marquis De Sade
shadow fantasies
of dead play toe tag
and spilt milk
kisses' true
under Habeas Corpus
sweet dead you

you made me giggle
like jumping jellybeans  
and *** honey
I'm so glad you liked it
and your cute comment
about how my poem
made love to you
like multi chromed
teensy weensy
**** candy throat ticklers
at a careless Halloween party
where everything forbidden
in troves
is hidden by the hidden


how you loved
dancing with Night-gaunts
from temples of the astral
past those incessant ruffling whispers
past shadows flesh
somewhere high up
beyond the glimmering headlights
of muttering pastel colored boulevards
that flicker contorted images
of the resurrected living dead
still warm
in your dreadful toxic bed

so tell me dead girl
till the day i die
is it better now
beyond father time
no more words and wounds
no more toothaches
and lunging depressions
pulling you helplessly
into gloomy vortexes
shadowed cups
of looming spacelessness
with no downs or ups

instead you say
you're published
in the Dead Leaf rag
where words like shrouds
blur ballooning solicitude
of indecipherable
mirrored reflections
under tongues of crystal ethers
where life lives backwards
and you just
write beautiful
white
nothings
like flat eyed Phoenician ghosts
beyond the ages
in windless skies
on empty pages

i write my poems with a torn tongue
of Freudian slips
in dark rooms of naughty language
that stick like fly paper on trespassing filigree wings of contagion  
where i remember the whole history of poetry
like a pageant of painted bride runway models
which i have culled
from the of blood of recognition

                                    blackout

a ghost from the underworld
i awaken to life in ecstatic perception
below shimmering celestial equators in a world of endless war
booming noise and scenic fruited braids of blurring tears
as enemies try to fill each others bodies
with spores and yardage of bladed body parts
in riddles of flesh
towards eternity as obsession becomes horror in an empire of rage

                                your gonna get such a slap

where justice and power forever suffocate each other
in a phantasmatic struggle both born to intermittent death and renewal in some contra parallel juncture of back and forth
where burning floors
thresholds of disaster
sprinkle embered words from hinterlands of excrement
giving birth to sagging hearts
and broken brains vignette on skeletons of wire and shining eyes
staring    staring    staring
through muffled pinhole pupils
staring black

                                eyeballs whistle

thank God i'm ****** again
and driving the white car in a crescendo of halos
slinged back fantasizing mythological ***** dreamgirls
and the food they cook in their wet *****
of melodious love and bedroom splits

                             Venus gone mad

and then i turn to puff smoke poem jazz
singing with opiated mouths
grinning red Beetle teeth
while driving through immortal clouds
of wish bone shaped pole dancers
with burning button hole eyes
spinning in horizontal love and death
blue pineapple aspic rhapsodies


                                *i'm your ******* daddy

all my life
i spent waiting
waiting for the words
i should have said
flapping the desperate wings
of conciousness

                           a drugged pig

waiting for some ineffable her
with wendigo lust
and my ship to come in

                           a woman grinning with a knife in her hand

waiting for a new transformed me
that could do math
better than a decapitated dolls head
and write obscene poems
in plyometrics
of self-presentation
to **** by

                             catching up with a future that will never
                               come          

and not do it all wrong
so disgusting becomes beautiful
in the portico
of some gothic ***-mare
dripping imagination
that bankrupts reality
in a fashionably pretentious way

                             the devils ***** flirting    

maybe disgusting is beautiful
in a fierce burning of ethical piety
and praising moral turpitude
where islands of *****
tuck in sweet wet mouths and ascend
under ***** glittering moons

                                   dancing stiletto's in a savage hula

i wait to understand myself and others
in dumb silence
but my shadow alludes me
without a private moment of the heart
and rigid architectural order
to give a pathology of poems
sparkling language

                                    to find the blood and guts of words  

my fumbling
a catastrophe
as i wait to get up the nerve
imagining myself smarter
taller faster bigger
writing better poems of unrequited lust
in wild cherry red asymmetrical verse

                                   hoola hoops and dragons

waiting to get older
and wondering why i always felt
like i was waiting for others to die
and finally to die myself

                                time flies when your dead

could i handle it
in its juxtapositions
and fatal discontinuities
as if i get to decide
so called
master of my own ship

                                 Andromeda crashes the Milky Way
its unnerving
so lets get this over with
although i hope death
doesn't happen too soon
even though i make frivolous ******
and slippery associations  
with her as she welcomes my
galoshes wearing
Trojan horse
over the moat
passed widened thighs
into her grand **** courtyard

                                           ****** feet with pointed toes    

Venus is never
completely happy
unless she feels
Pluto's edge
forcing her submission
in willing chains
from out of proms' blazing date
into a congenial poem
passed a cliché of grunts

                                        *** slave grovels to be corrected

but the waiting
for a fanatical delusion
of waking tongues
and self-destructive fury
is only sacred
when it burns like hell
on creaking beds
that rattle about the room
in this grove of infelicities
and tapestries of flame

                                             prehistoric clitori indulge ****** politics

a performance
in a rearranged reality
we can not understand

I'm trying to give order to things
perpetually a competition
between desire and necessity

necessity always wins
and desire grovels
like a renga
of grunts and incantations

a blur  
only born to be pulverized
and bleached
found in an archeological dig
in a lineage of bones
and smeared ash
martyrdoms
stained totems
of brittle ancestors
and jeweled coffers
under this necropolis of stars

we run head first
northward bound
where neuro grids
are instant evolution
for algorithms
of techno rationality
and hold close
south bound hearts of sentimentality
in a history of contingencies
interchangeable plot lines
like old sitcoms
with built in
canned laugh tracks
that **** us off
in the theater of atrocities

i am my
fathers fathers father
and the children of my children
weeping in labyrinths thunder
and swirling ethers
held down on the crucifix
of this spinning marble
that floats in ice black fires

blood fat armies
of knuckle dragging
infinitesimal bodies
fill tombs of pharaohs
and queens
extracted sarcophagi
from the Valley of the Kings
who ruled arcades
of brazen and terrified
praying chimpanzees
scattering and pierced
on hooks and flames
through their soft bodies
in a humanistic cinema
of tyrannies
and myth fiction horror

a history of suspicion
submits to
commodities of fetish phantasmagoria  
and festivals of atonement

at our end
Gods will
the big un-bang
a spectacular inhumanity
bashes us hard with   
Punchinellos bat
striking wounds and age
for the theater
fallen life
in voids and mountain peaks
till deaths wake
in the noisy silence
of forever