Pyres of cityscapes burn contingently in the distance
ever drunk with blood of a mother, a nurturer who asks
nothing of the morose, self-consumed existence
she cares for. Her brow cocked,
wrinkles descend like
rain that tears down
a window.
Pain.
You're bleeding out! But she'll never put herself
forefront. How could she? Sitting, reflecting.
Tormented by incompetence, her soft
voice silently flutters the leaves.
Drearily an extension of her lips, the words
escape the cusps like a cautious prairie-dog.
Smog obscures
the senses, a haze
darkening the pupils of your celestial eyes.
I still see You
drooping in the rocker under a hard light. Retaining know-
ledge of past and present, through spectacles.
Her deflating ****, secreting
concrete into the sucklings, cementing fate,
as the clock that hangs above her falters. I shutter to think of the
future that's afore. When the one who's raised me is not.
No more.
Your timber limbs look awfully thin. Restless and alone,
she's tired. "Abandoned"
we're all alone,
but your company means more to me than a sustainable
stone.

Like the infertile young debonair of the American Dream,
whiskey dicked, and moaning
over the sweaty heap of calloused flesh,
my "relationships" are brimful of
disappointment. The throngs of love drunk
junkies eager to play, dressed for the
Concert of Apollo and the Muses.
Naked grudges,
threshing and gushing
the way the chicken did;
grandmother with head in hand.
Rhythmic and off beat,
instinctual. Begging; more, more,
more. They're beginning
to wear the same face,
a carnal imprint of
satisfaction.
But I know they don't see me,
how could they, lying, eyes
rolling in the back of their
heads?
My eyes
still.
I can picture your face here but it'd never do,
subdued
issues of a fallacy state.
Irate.
How could you leave this impression?
Emotional digression.
I've promised myself time
and time again not to fall for the same old ****,
that kiss, that ******
blood-inked kiss.
But the insulin fused memories scream. I
detest the wretchedness I've exposed
myself
to. A period of forgetting
you, but the passage of time
pulling grain from grain, uplifts my disdain.
I finally feel comfortable unveiled,
awaken, lying next to
the humming lips of a
foreign swain.

Outstretched over tightly woven grids of
interlaced cityscapes,
storm clouds purge their bodies.
Rolling thunder claps, snapping like a rattrap
executioner.
Lightning strikes,
it
follows
along to:
Fibonacci's beat
one and one is two and one is
three and two is five
and three is
eight. Eight
legs,
like the ****** who spun
these threads of buildings with a widows
design. All the while wearing her
        red sign
             of
        warning,
this city will ensnare you, and bleed
you dry.

Voyeuristic, the eyes of a lover
Withholding truths of the world perceived
Forming assumptions, a great deceiver
Digging graves in what is firmly believed
So with these few words,
   A formal closure
Let no more be written
   Of past allures

I suppose I should have caught warning,
the banshees singing to me should have
been enough. They knew you better than
I it would appear, which disgusts me it
took three years to reach my ears,
only taken in like the slow drip of
morphine. Or

maybe it was  more like the shrieks of
helpless swine herded into the pig plant,
the way the tires tongued the pavement.
The way their tongues persuaded you.
The trail of saliva shadows your past;
ebony brushstrokes, but

not quiet charcoal. Like the pint I had
forced down my throat a week prior. Lying
in the hospital bed warmed by the hollow
embrace of death, or whiskey, or both. It
wriggled through my esophagus,
escaping the ensnaring confines
of the cocoon. Ribbed with flesh,

the ceiling, walls, and floor. Encroach.
Displacing my weakened stomach, from toe
to toe, across the crevice ridden glacier
most would call a spine. I'm jarred awake
to experience the black sludge again. Before I can
**** I'm in another white room. I should
have known something was wrong,

the impact of the hit obliterated any sense
of structure. I saw a glimpse of my reflection,
passing across three dimensions. Only the hole
outlined from your cigarette reminds me
you were ever there. We were

a great catastrophe. As a confidant voice
disrupts, "Is that everything?" The blue pen
dwindling in hand.
"I suppose. I won't fall for another pig in a poke."
The hour ends, and so does our session.

I've wanted to tell you for the past couple months I've been watching from afar
and your case my dear is quiet unsettling,
you see the simplicity of it is quiet unnerving.
You sit and you pry
You dine and you lie
to make it past another day.
Lead astray
by a fallacy preconceived in the womb
an encrypting tomb.
I've watched from afar as its slowly been sealing.
The means by which you're "dealing"
with the entropy of a reawakened life.
It's a combination of love and hate,
one of which no drug dare sedate.
Though some will tease
with attempts to please,
the hole that's there will never again be fulfilled
as the bearer will forever be left to rebuild
And I'll watch from afar as your life lies in ruins.
Only to see it begin
again and again, and again and again.
The monotony
of ******
of melancholy
of treachery
of the solitary
confines that have bound you here,
that hold you dear,
and whisper in your ear at night.
"It'll be alright."
These were the last words that I remember.
Before the stutter.
Before the games of a wretches confines
it's benign.
It's benign, and I will not here further dispute
this fact as I watch from afar, mute.
When will it feel like this never began?
Tell me, Oh tell me, my dear sweet Anne.

She jostles my collar and nibbles my ear
"Do you want to play?"
                                      play?...
                                              play?...


The word's echo in the corridor of my canal


                                ...do you?
The curtains drawn and sheets askew
flesh and fabric entwined
netted so well, neither dare move
but cocooned in ecstasy; mentally
and physically
as your heart-shaped crevice
firmly burrows into my pelvis.
I'm homeward bound.