bonnie harlotsthey dance with flowers in their hair
songs of fornication whispered to the heavy air.
eyes gaze wildly at the babbling stream
and small children go missing
followed by sweet screams.
lips blood blue and skin so fair.
in light blue garments
smiling through shy bangs
drunken under shrunken trees
that kneel to shield the ladies three.
they chant for robust ataraxia.
the wine pours forth
and as long as
they bow to the north
their goblets never empty.
follow them to the brushwood where everything comes to life
watch the dance of amorous rage
wage your very soul to engage
in the empty passions of the witches three.
bathe in waters crystalline
like acid sin
undress and suppress
thoughts of transgression and guilt
and adulterate until the sun peeks into the darkness.
and the villagers set out to find us.
to squeeze you into the mouldyou make me sick in my tummy
you're getting all touchy
get off of the floor and lay
down in your bed.
I just adore your slurring
of what you want to do instead.
whipe your mouth
ill help you take your clothes off,
don't mind the voices around our heads
don't mind the lights under the door
time is on the outside of us
and everyone out there is a bore.
im really beginning to like
the way you look when you're wasted
it's a shame that you taste so bad
it's a shame your words are heavy and pasted
and cut from magazines.
but ill ignore the puns and the cliches
and cut and paste
my own persona to replace the truths about you.
that's what I always do.
you see im good at lying to myself
so you don't have to.
so slip under the covers,
slip some hands down my skin.
we could almost look like lovers
if you'd just hide that absent grin.
fix your hair
spread your arms,
fit nicely in my pseudo mental picture of content ...
to delay the spread of time it takes me to
Comahe rests his head
silence in the bed sheets
hes dormant like windows.
his eyelids flicker
from time to time,
he sees something
beneath the arms of time
long arms of time.
he rests his legs
he smells radiation.
sunshine through the panes does a number on his skin
he grows whiter with sleep.
deeper than dreams
drifting into reality.
still as a corpse
atop a pile of sanitation.
dead to the world;
but he's kicking awake to a better place.
one step ahead of time
and thinner than space.
they sit around him and wait
gifts and flowers wilt and die
days and months and minutes go by
its no use to cry
in between the seconds,
he can still hear you.
if only he could smile.
he's freshly pressed
you try to pinch him awake.
if you really love him
you won't wake him.
if you really love him
you'll let the winged ones take him.
don't shake him
so much deeper
the secrets of the nightshe's breathing staccato
her dress is white
she sails through the graves.
the rain is wet heat
the moon ceases to fade.
the trees sing hymns to the skies
borrowed from the daytime payments
of respects and goodbyes:
orisons to guide the lost souls
to the light,
but she cannot hear it
despite all her might.
her veil ensnares
pieces of branches, caught,
a mosaic of accidents
she waywardly forgot
but stay with her
until she takes her wedding dress off.
one shoe is left behind
and a hand mirror falls
she bestows bad-luck unto all.
the sun assumes eve
and the hooded man calls,
she evanesces to nothing
as sunlight crudely falls.
the dawn church bell tolls
and glass slippers disappear.
no trace of the gasping bride
no shards of her broken mirror.
the mourners start their weeping
and the ghosts return to sleeping,
the tombs close to keep safe
the secrets of the night.
spoon feedwe're hungry, we're starving
we need just a little bit more.
give us a handful of something charming
to keep us farmers farming
to keep us on the other side of the fence
of central intelligence.
distract Jiminy with endowments
and keep us cozy in our negligence.
you'll have our votes
if you cut the right throats
and you play the right notes,
because its what you can do for us
not what you can do for our country.
top off our glasses.
one more plate of shit would surely stop the growling of the masses
and the rumbling in our tummies.
hand over the plentiful bounties
so we may calmly, insensibly return to our occupations
that yield little or nothing at all
to do with production:
liposucking the marrow of soul from our fat asses,
recycling and reprocessing morals with too many additives.
all because we yearn to earn.
how will we ever learn
when we dump the past on a hill to rot away with the good old days?
out with the old, in with the new and improved
out with quality, in with single use,
that nightall packed in the car,
sharing air, sharing stares,
paired off and impaired
we drove through the night.
engine was so loud
but the lights were not bright
first it was a bicycle I spied
with my watery eyes
and then the rest of the figure appeared
but to stop wasnt worth the try
the hit was far too nigh.
but still Mark stomped on the breaks
and next the bicycle lay upside down
the wheels still spinning, hissing like snakes.
we looked for the body
but found only a broken handle bar
so we climbed back into the car,
sharing air, sharing the same lack of care
no more paired, but impaired enough to dare
to deny what happened that night.
no one would know
except us and the girl
we swore not to speak
and her corpse could not leak
the truth from six feet
Isle In Between Your EarsI've decided to go swimming on the small of your back.
Its advertised as a trip to Paradise Island, so Ive forgotten to pack.
The sun is sour citrus, and everything should be warm
But my bones are iced from the inside out to the coming storm.
The sands too cotton and my towels too hot
So Ill tip toe to the water and listen for the gunshot.
The lightning crashes and winds make a change for the worst
I should have brought my goddamn umbrella, I never think first.
I make my way to the cyclone and step on into the under-toe
I trust your lips and dont care to look where I go.
Do you ever wonder where I am in your ocean?
And why it gets colder the farther I swim out?
Maybe its the closer I drift to without
But the shoreline wont miss me. And I won't miss him.
Just like pain is never missed by fun.
And you told me you never miss anyone.
I can see the ships sinking and the sails fall in knots
The parachutes waver
and 99 red bal
the crowThe Crow
The crow hovered not too high overhead.
The air was plutonic and thicker than jelly.
I walked along the phantom fencing,
The rim of the graveyard.
The fog still condensing.
I paved it with my footsteps,
Reminding me, I am still alive
Even if my eyes hold nearly no jive.
My clothes were painted to my body
My skin poking through the torn threads.
The rain lacquered my back and dropped cold pins into my shoulders.
This was not the first night the sky had been fevered,
Ever since I arose, something had been ill at ease.
Retribution was ringing in my ears and vengeance had been stuck under my nails for days.
And still I have not finished yet.
I've cheated death but it is them who will pay the debt.
I visit your headstone every night, to give me hope that I am worthy of bringing justice to bear
And to shake restlessly in desperate prayer.
I kneel down at your stone and read your epitaph:
'Loving daughter and paramour.'
I press my ear to the dirt
And imagine your words.
VelcroThe window allows little light.
She sits quite tight.
Rain pounds in the eaves
Like midnight thieves.
She's been here a while
With the same old smile.
The war is over and Daddy's coming home.
Toys lie dusty and stained with years of neglect.
She ignores them with all due respect.
She doesn't feel like playing
But you cant blame her.
Cold files through the failing roof and drafts gently percolate up through the rotting wood.
No pictures hang on the walls
She has no time for fingerpaint.
She's been 8 years old for 80 years.
Her age lies through the way she still appears.
Her existence so thin only the dark can see her.
But never feel her.
Upside-down feet kick walls
Frustrated but still tender, soft.
She sits on the window loft
Not too far from her body.
She fiddles with her hair,
Plays musical chairs
Bytes her nails.
She smiles, anxious.
He will come soon, she's so sure.
Her ghost is growing impatient.
The clock arms shake
Times beginning to byte l
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