Rotting carcass on lover’s bed,
Gramophone hums the jazz of death.
Romantic candles cast shadows of tormented souls,
A whisper beckons, “Here we go down the rabbit hole.”

Cut into the flesh, take a bite —
Taste the blood of anguish, of spite.
This imperfect ritual extends till midnight,
Just me and her in the dying meadow of the moonlight.

Then I heard the vulture
Morbidly curious, ever so charming,
Wings stretching from heaven to hell,
Pecking at the dead, she laughs again.

“Would you like to hold my hands?” asked the vulture.
Love slips through one, while hate permeates the other.
“Hold them till death and be reborn as an undead.”
I comply, for I’m nothing but a love-drunk puppet.

Welcomed, fed, danced, and entertained,
All that’s left is to consummate upon her lonely bed.
Shrieking voice, hauntingly inviting,
Her wishes numb my knees until I’m kneeling.

The sound of a vulture, a symbol of rebirth —
Death is nigh, the voice whispers, “Lover, or deceiver?”

night                                                        
this is texture of apparition      
a little restless heat
the cat crosses between balconies
the cardboard set of the backs of city houses
stage of charming murders and secrets
the skies speed and health dominates          
there's a detonation of the half moon
then the treads of clouds                                    
and a sharp code of shooting star
we have no right                                            
bathed with loving context
we should behave to earn such a view
but our smarts aim                                    
at now't but hazard and flirt
war dooms at beat for thunder
the night skies become ominous                
                     with our ruined broach
suspended under every breath

A man of few words
but
loud notes

Midnight makes no sound when it arrives.

Silently deadly you sneak into my bones,
sweetly deadly you nest inside.
With no time to escape
and too scared to play dead.

Night craves for no light
and my only shelter is my own flesh
but oh wait,
you are already inside.

Silently deadly like a virus,
sweetly deadly like love.

Every day at dusk, I hide.
But oh wolf,
you have to find me only once.

Loudly blatantly you munch my bones,
delightfully blatantly you nest inside.


[Another recurrence of the Devotion Rot habit—spilled as art.]

In the quiet of the night, she lingered, savoring a slow drag from her cigarette.
After all, this was the sole indulgence she allowed herself from time to time.
As she observed the smoke swirling gracefully before her,
she sensed a calmness enveloping her.
Gradually, her spirit was rising, and she understood the importance of not hurrying its journey.
She was not just okay.
She was more than okay,
she was truly alive.

-Rhia Clay

He was a cluck-fu chicken
And he brought his feathered fight kickin'
And there was no denying
That he was masterful and mighty!

He knew a chicken sensei
Who trained him day and night
The way to do instant striking moves
'Til his skill was out of sight
But there's one thing that happened
When push came to shove,
He had to bring his full-fledged chicken fight from above!