Rainstorming

You're gonna come down in sheets 
And I'm gonna take it
Because I need it
It's a reluctant pummeling
It's a rejoice with a relapse
Sick gray daze
hazes of rain
beating me, bathing me
scathing frigidity
drifting over me

I measure in inches
what you've given
gathered sand 
to keep you at bay
and pray for more
I've raided stores
And boarded up
for your arrival

Come to me
Flood my streets
I'm gonna curse
And vow 
to sleep through it all
but I'll admit,
I am enthralled
watching and waiting
for the onslaught
peeking through curtains
watching puddles turn 
to lakes turn to seas of 
all that we need
and I will squeal
"Please let up."

And it will pound on
until it's done.

You could always get more than you can handle and be grateful for it.
Published in: on December 13, 2014 at 4:21 am  Leave a Comment  
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Shearing Skin

I had lost all hope
I was a fixture
a figment
a ligament contracted
in fists and fits
a misfit unfit
for fitting in
shearing skin
falsely thinking it let them in
 
 
Too grave to give
And given in
Gape gowned to the ghost
I gave way in ghastly grins
It sadly seeps and sways
In sweeps and says
“The cloth that hangs
Is wearing thin”
 
The naked haunt
Who has my heart
He harped and harked
Into the dark
So, to fall I followed
The invisible hollow
That fallow fellow
I met at my pillow
To pluck the plantation
Of flesh-cotton sorrow
 
No sheep can spin
That ripened skin
The fluffs of buff
I’ve given him
And gauged the girth
Of all his grim
On graveyard shifts
At the cotton gin
 
Of my frightly frocks
He dawned at dusk
I hemmed and hawed
“He has a husk!”
Hushed and hidden
Till head hits hay,
He woke me as I slipped away
 
Although remained in his remains
He reaps with me, now
In the rags of wraiths
And raves in tones of razor blades
Too visible to vanish
and too vanquished to be vain
 
We traipse along
the brim of night
showing our skin
Our dark burning bright
And haunt the fringe
of flocks in flight
 
and frighten the fowl
with hues and howls
how we flash and flaunt
our cacophonous cowls
and dive back to the morn’s burning sun
with jaundice yellow yowls
and our skin undone
 
Each midnight I mend
The shredded shroud
and cackle as I count it down
My hope, it seems
In seams, so soft
Are cloaks where I’m
no longer lost.
Published in: on May 5, 2014 at 12:26 am  Leave a Comment  
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I am a paler blue than you are used to

I am a paler blue than you are used to
I am milk from the breast
The blind man’s eye
The morning sky
 
 
I am a paler pink and it’s not like you think
I am the dead man’s skin
The winter cheek
Wheezing life, oblique
 
 
I am twisted spine wrapped in barbed wire and twine
The clink on dinner glass
The old barn in the wind
Weakened, thin
 
I’m a softer gray than I was yesterday
I am the abandoned school’s window
The late autumn fog
The belly-up pollywog
 
 
Trapped beneath ice
I am a horrid last gasp
The precipice teetering boulder
The secret the dying man told her
 
 
I am all that fizzles
The last millimeter of wick
I am the faint sound of haunting
That is actually nothing blowing in the wind
 
 
I am the last straw the cow devours
In a land of famine
Digested four times before
The final feast is never more
 
 
I am the fraying shroud
on the cold slab
the scratching dry quill
the unfinished words of the will
 
 
I am the ruins
behind the undergrowth
I am the ship on the ocean floor
a splinter on death’s door
 
 
I am a palor of green
A mold on the cheese
I am the child that floats
the hanged man’s throat
 
 
I am a gutter of leaves
after four months of rain
I am slime
I block the drain
 
 
I am ash on a bonnet
the clay on work boots
I am the broken ax
the recipient of forty whacks
 
 
I am all that decays
I am all that stops shining
I am all of the hues
of adieu
Published in: on October 9, 2013 at 2:00 am  Leave a Comment  
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Jackson Pollock Dinty Moore Fetal Position

We’re all just one breath away from being rotting meat,
a wick waiting for a flame,
a fetus waiting for a name
We’re all just sizzling bologna in the mercy seat
And a masterpiece ready for a frame
Our artful life,
A sizzling sacrifice
One slice at a time,
we’re turning out real nice
and if we’re patient,
very patient
maybe we will become…
something… Edible.
We’re all just who we are,
ready to ignite or snore
We’re all just in our justification
intentional splatters carefully placed on canvas or concrete
dropped from birth canals on to the street
and forced to feed
We’re all just another creeping creature,
We’re all just walking stew with a beef,
sealed in skin and grief
A cauldron ready to be ripped open to release steam
Thermosealed comfort food ready to eat
We’re all just a pouch of flesh
A pocket of remorse
A vessel of paint
A flame getting faint
A fledgling main course
We’re all just a grip that hasn’t been grabbed
A morsel that hasn’t been stabbed
And if we’re still,
Very still,
Maybe we will be fattened consumers too
Just like the thing that eats you.

The Red Hours

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
I’ve got 8 legs
I’ll be busy all day
wrapping guys up
having my way
sucking them dry
till their skin’s shrink wrapped
round their spine
 
I’ve ate well today
got eggs to lay
and I’ve saved the corpses
they dangle and sway
in my widow web
what gets caught is mine
 
It’s still dark
and I know
there are many more friends
oh, it’s far too easy
to lure them in
if I show just a little
of any 8 legs they’re
bound to have a happy end…
 
Come join the party
where the boys all hang
You’re the dish for the dinner
that’ll cure hunger pangs
I’ve got a gossamer trap
and a daft pair of fangs
 
So I’ll feed on you
bound, you can’t move 
my hourglass tattoo, bobbing
red and smooth
will be your last sight
at the final close of your eyes
 
I’ll rest on silk, satisfied
you’re so much better
than all those flies
and I’m so glad
you decided to 
crawl by
 
 what gets caught is mine
Published in: on September 19, 2012 at 12:25 am  Leave a Comment  
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Vines

I want to be smothered in blackberry and ivy in the inebriated drips of this honey thick heat,
Every barbed tendril puncturing my stifled body,
Oozing my sticky-sweet juice, slathering your whole.
Cover my all, take me in!
It seems all I ever learnt of love is how to succumb.

Inspired!

Published in: on August 2, 2012 at 12:34 am  Leave a Comment  
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Reverb

when you touch those strings
for hours after it reverberates,
adrenaline shaking me delirious
like holy spirit epileptic manifestations
in the aisles of your rhythmic temple
romantically cleansed in the murkiest of baptisms
                         
you sing,
and it carves me hollow,
scraped clean, empty,
guts and seeds, stripped bare to the rind and lit up smiling
   
every note
standing hairs on end till I’m a forest
lost in the bewildering wilderness you croon
these heart wrenching choral confessions
that unfurl in wooden ribbons
from your oaken diaphragm roots,
rising up and out, scratching and grabbing air
growing into every open ear,
holding attention boa tight
your gnarling lyric branches
weaving through every orifice
choking the sun with sweet darkness
 
 just keep me captive
tethered and chained to your next word,
my lungs asphyxiating
in the black ink lagoon
you’ve spelled your lines and measures with
I’ve got it bad, this malady of your ballads
I want to manifest all your everythings
tie myself in strings
and set myself between your knees
the devil will believe me
             
I want to zip the flesh down from my neck
peel back my ribs and beg for another hit
your bow, in viscera slicing strokes
each horse hair cut, gut weeping enchantments
you play and we offer blood
I’m not sure who’s sacrificing
but I’ll give anything for more
there is no coming back to real life after this
this narcotic need to feed on
more scores
 
Published in: on July 7, 2011 at 11:28 pm  Comments (4)  
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Seasonally Affected

The doors are closing.

A slit of light remains;

mere moments until

it rains.

Then,

I will hear the loud clap

of locks

me, shocked in stocks

imprisoned

picking at my own skin

for ink

hatching marks

scratching in the dark

mumbling refrains.

Blood fills the tank

Flood in the dank

chambers

drowning in my own

gurgled breath.

Only the rope

with the noose

holds the truth

if I want to escape

me.

The first robins’ egg

will dry it up,

no giving up

when the sun

shines once more.

The door will swing wide,

I’ll step outside,

squinting, weak

and likely unfit for release.

Published in: on September 20, 2010 at 10:04 pm  Comments (1)  
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Mellowfluous

On days like these

ink creeps down the confessing page

rain slides down the windows

and blood weeps slow through my polar veins

the coffee perks and drips in sync

and someday soon

all these liquids will efface

amalgamize in a swirl in the palm of my hand

and I will smear them down my sullen face

ink rain and blood

Published in: on November 12, 2009 at 11:05 pm  Comments (1)  
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Maritime Melancholy

Months lost at sea
with all these knots
and thoughts
that will not hold tight
slipping and giving the wind my sails
.
The creaking sway
a lullaby of loneliness
a cradle
a heaping ladle
of maritime melancholy
my flag, a sun-bleached map
.
Is it a voyage when you are lost
and content to be tossed
upon the miles of tumultuous waves
praying for landlessness
hopelessness, a welcome compass?
Published in: on November 11, 2009 at 1:31 am  Comments (2)  
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Deep Autumn Waltz

lonely barbedThere’s a madness blowing in the wind

A kind of sadness forcing it’s way in

A single note striking again… and again… and again

creaks

There’s a darkness that smears down sky’s walls

A dreary smirchness in ev’ry leaf’s fall

And the settling house, creaking calls… and calls… and calls

burnpile

There’s a haziness from the farmer’s burned brush

set to drown from the oncoming drizzly gush

And the scarecrow has no choice but stay hush, hush, hush.

sacredcrow 2

Get ready for a long weary shade,

a blanket cloaked in ashen frigid gray,

wrapped around us and bound with rusty chains

Published in: on October 7, 2009 at 12:10 am  Comments (4)  
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Good morning, Dark Stalker

I know a couple
lived so long
long enough to know
 
.
as all the parts
start to fail
that soon it’s time to go
 
.
I can’t imagine their living
with a reaper
stalking their every step
 
.
waiting for their pump
to quit
or the draw of their last breath
 
.
How it leans in intuitively as they hack
hoping to drag them into the black
 
.
The reaper sits in a corner chair while they sleep
when the snores grow silent, nearer it creeps
 
 
.
It peeks as they shower,(do not slip)
soon to be his if they break even a hip
 
.
Oh, the young,
they don’t know
how long they will be
 
.
Hell, a reaper
could certainly
be stalking me
 
.
Those octogenarians,
poor dears,
he follows them everyday
.
It must be haunting,
CHILLING to be
at the ripe end of decay
Published in: on September 17, 2009 at 1:35 am  Comments (4)  
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Sangrinora

juice me
Start with the ragged fleck of skin from my slender finger
pulling slowly, like a runner root
Let the fresh air be introduced to dermis
wet with it’s raw awakening
Shuck me like an onion
shedding layers and forcing bleary tears
.
Disrobe my entirety, freeing me from the suit of my bearing
divorce the connective tissue
My fluids and nectarous pith
are ripe like summer’s last plum
Get at that rind like a kid on Christmas morn
for I can sense how great your thirst
.
Cup that sanguinal fluid, wring each limb thoroughly
careful not to spill a drop.
Feel my plasmatic liquor
soak your every last cell
Juice it dry, so you can preserve and later savor
that which deserves to be kept in a bottle
Published in: on August 28, 2009 at 11:39 pm  Comments (3)  
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Thee Olde Ruddy Myst

myst
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Like a cat on the piano
in the dead of night,
It is the startling,
waking fear.
 
As scarlet as treasures
for which men have fought,
drenched with the bloody loss
of our adored buccaneer
 
For dreamt foggy conjures
of heavens and breath,
It is the thing that moves
across skin in the dawn
 
The scent in the mist
luring, repulsing
infiltrates and stifles
the lungs with it’s brawn
 
Pinned down eyelids,
imagination hijacked,
cold wash of prickle pain,
paralyzed in silence
 
You’re some sly reaper, myst
grazing my gray matter
with your own ghastly brand
of quiet, subtle violence
 
The cap’n in his rum-soaked slumber
perversely oblivious,
will wake in the balmy morn
To the softest shell he’s ever seen
Published in: on August 23, 2009 at 1:00 am  Comments (3)  
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Scab Chewer

Medusa
She’s a scab chewer
peeling back those crusty sores
with her dragon lady nails
until the oozing pulp is revealed
snacking gleefully and with malice
on the tender access points
in your armor.
She is vicious
and no amount of honey
can coat her scales
no slathering of agreement
and compliment
can gain her favor.
She is vile
and prefers to show it
with a devious smile
that reveals the teeth
that are caked with the scabs
of every person in her path
She is a bitch extrordinaire
with snakes for hair
and coal red eyes
who mounts herself
upon the pires of invisible power
and delights when you cower
She spits venom on skin
to make her victims
scab again
and turns others’ words
into ash for a badge on her sash
her nails dragging on the walls
of her lair
are her only comfort
Published in: on July 8, 2009 at 12:03 am  Comments (2)  
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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.
Published in: on June 26, 2009 at 12:28 am  Comments (3)  
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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
 ckcod-my
Published in: on June 11, 2009 at 2:47 am  Comments (1)  
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Spectral Wisp

spectral wisp 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
If only
I could have
your breath
on my ear
panting hot
but it’s not.
How menthol wintry
shiver shimmery
you sigh
 
Shudder stroke
tickle-drip
vapor trickle
finger tip
encircling
spectral wisp
hulaing
my ivory hips
  
I feel you
brush my skin
surge through
my hair
I reach
into the space
around me
You are not there
 
Saddling the frigid
breeze you blow
gravitating
amidst
the ghastly glow
Ascendancy!
you came
for me
 
Hover always
flitter floating
telekinetic
anemic arctic
taunt me
want me
haunt me
ungraspable
sentimentality.
Published in: on June 10, 2009 at 1:14 am  Comments (4)  
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Ornithology

She glides into the night in silk feathered flight
Her quickening heart rises up to sky.
Reaching for the butter’d cup,
surrounded by the mossy muff
and with his ladle drinks it up
unraveling ribbony silken shreds
from her skin
it begins…
 
raven-with-ribbon 
Wings spread, coasting down to snatch
with spoon-billed beak, the catch ,
ribboned silk all around, spirals descending
into the onyx sea.
 
To make seen the water’s rippling,
moonlit,  upon obsidian wings
He brings her, featherless
to the nest
and dines on blood and thigh and breast
 raven-naked-ribbons
 
 
And in the currents of ocean, dark
he lifted a single thread from it’s stark,
a silken ribbon to weave
among the twigs and moss and bones,
his throne, a trophy case
a resting place
and her beak tossed among the downy pile
the aftermath of a hungry night.
 
 
 
Published in: on February 17, 2009 at 12:22 am  Comments (1)  
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The exorcism

My demons are getting some exercise
I need to make them good and tired
so for many quiet days
I’ll be relieved of their wicked ways.
 
My devil, doing biceps curls
tells me to go drink with the girls
I talk too much as my brain whirls
and imbibe until I hurl.
 
My imp, I tell him to run laps
my mind, it cramps, and bleeds through gaps
I gasp at such a tortured lapse
and beg for sanity’s firm grasp.
 
Twas squats I ordered Mephistopheles
which almost brought me to my knees
he pulled my skirt and begged, “Please!
I’ll rob your fair beauty should you rid of me.”
 
The exercise that left me vext
came to me in my quiet rest
A nightlong marathon we sext
his searing hand slid to my breast
 
Alas, it was Beelzebub
my soul’s health could join no other club
my fits of craze have no sub
my nourishment came from his nub
 
My demons give me exercise
If I fight they make me tired
they chatter to me on quiet days
saying death rids me not of their wicked ways.
imageapm
Published in: on February 11, 2009 at 12:02 am  Comments (3)  
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