How many have sinned, how big is the prison?
It’s a plug that keeps us from spilling. A plug.
Or amniotic fluid would be seeping, on the rug.
And no one can quite come up with the drug
that heals that hole
that holds in the soul
to keep the world from taking a chug.
Oh, that plug, it is made of up of crud
But, fear not, it reacts well to suds
And a very vigorous scrub
will prevent a dribble
on the delicate pebble
that would leave a trail of blood.
The path that diverts us is wide
while the one best to choose is a line
and everyone has committed a crime
so God has decided
our souls be debrided
before we go to heaven to do time.

The wind: a breath, a current
A breath
went for a walk
with two gallivanting fingers
up and down
her spine
That doormat
sure can hold on tight
when the wind
comes from behind
A breath
that couldn’t talk
through pillows and trachea hugs,
exhaled in tears
and darkened stratospheres,
that muffled wind
who can bend and ascend
to the heights of beanstalks
Some foreign breath
that blows wind chimes
carries, like rivers,
the silence
and disseminates
the seeds
much like dandelion weeds
to a distant resting place
for unspoken violence
The wind: a breath, a current
that strips trees or tickles noses,
waves flags,
shifts sand,
and is a collection
of the sighs
of millions of years’ toil

Carniveralore
Carnivale whore
carnivore
eat that corn dog to the core.
Consume with carnal
consecration
Bob’s kebab of quick castration
Carouse on careening carousel
cudgel
that comestible to compel
Cult-cock clown
go down
curly-whirl round and round
Cotton Candy boy-cloy
coyly
cumming carny killjoy
Circus seminal strangulation
seedy
side-show stilted satiation


The Refusal
Again, I fuse
the idea
to lose
the respect of many
to my identity.
I refuse
to spend
myself beyond
my means.
I decide,
what fills
my time.
How criminal
it seems
to bow
to theives’
futile tasks
and plans.
No more,
give I,
more than
I have,
and wish to
give so freely.
No love,
no time,
no help,
no life,
no wisdom,
money,
sex or lies.
Unregretfully,
decline I,
the rules
do not apply.
My words,
abhorrent truth.
Firm, I am
and in command
of what I can
grasp.
I reject hollow
particpation;
you do not
need me,
you do not
knead me,
You have not
kneed me,
where it hurts.
My refrain
how sane,
but foreign
to the skein.
My resolve
bound tight
around
my heart.
So come
and prowl
and pry
somehow
if you think
yourself
insistent.
Surrender
some,
I will become
your loveliest
assistant.

Spectral Wisp

