Cosmos

Lift my head from soft evil;
a black chest I know
to well,

arms that swing sharp blades around my throat.

We meet where day begins,
after black out thick ends…

smoke smothers from my pores –

I remember the Cosmos,
shooting up the stars,
crawling out of his damp position

and lift,
            lift,
                lifting off.

The End

image

Pink tissue shivers
– pins and needles –

poisonous seeds
grow like mushrooms

in stolen wombs.

Mozart marches
like I’m a
masterpiece

black and white
piano keys

I’m nothing less

than spoiled by
venomous seeds
that started me!

Skull Crushed

He mounts himself before me
un-zips his stiff skin,
wraps his violent arms around me – to crush

against his ribs. I brush his chest,
boiling veins coil through me,
eyes bulge from my head.

His affection is silent. I see through
muscles and bone – his frail components.
They cannot move. He refuses.

I lay my soft nature over his void.
He is unaware. His nourishment is silent.
He moans. I am starved.

He is heavy in hand and heart, dangles his love on a brick,
then hits me with it. I swell – with thirst,
hungry for his deep devotion,

for his full, dark desire to tie me to him,
vein to vein,
lung to lung,
bone to bone

forever.

Copper Loaded Love

A green barrette, a gun.
Good-bye, my lady.

If I cut my hands off, my lucky gun would fit.

I gave three seconds and died
happy, life is just a lesson.
You are thirty seconds to the grave,
I am just a prison.

You’re Irish season swallows poison,
we terrified your liver. Good-
bye, my lady,
I am drowning in a river.

Everybody is looking,
I have your money here.
You cheat! You’re a cheat, painting courage over
with fear.

My white girl, I love you,
with a dark and heavy gun.
I shot you up, a million shots
with copper loaded love.

Drink your dark poison,
swallow your tainted love.
Good-bye. my lovely lady,
your green barrette, your gun.

spiders inside me

*WARNING* THIS COULD BE A TRIGGER FOR VICTIMS OF SEXUAL ABUSE/ASSAULT

 

In the morning he crawls across me
pasting me with his skin

his limp tongue travels around the clock

tick….tock

I watch the fan spin my blood to a thick boil
fists tied white
chest tight
open wide…..

spiders crawl in
feeding ammunition
his slow words lock the air
his hard wear
my pulled hair

I’m twisted around this prison
caged in a dark rhythm
until the deep alarm
the heartbeat

his slimy little army marches through deep flesh
he smiles
trying to disarm me

and I watch the fan spin around and around
and wait for the
spiders to crawl out.

The Death Of Roses

He’s splashing in cyanide tonight,
elbow deep in death grease, peeling it off
long enough to shout his love at me.

My bed is empty like this,
I lay here, empty, like this,
sipping on his poisonous spit.

The clock hisses,
my eyes burn like his swollen skin,
sleeping beasts await me
and I sit here,
just empty, like this

while he bathes in acid
and cries out his love to me,
he stands long enough to dry a bullet
and point his shaky finger at me,

I take my time,
watching the roses he gave me
dry,
each petal smells toxic,
I can’t touch them they will crush.

The clock spits after midnight,
he washes off in rust
then rushes off to spread his love on me.
I am here, like this,
empty, waiting,

for his cyanide to save me.

On The Day

Oh young, on the day she turns
over a new leaf, sun-damaged
veins, shrivelled death

six-feet to go, to sleep,
to walk in to
her dreams, flat-lined
sex, drawn out of virgin
delirium

strawberry fields in
fast decay, on the day
she turns, sixteen
nights after the drunken man
is fast asleep

on the edge,
on metal terror
pumping through her
veins

this is the one,
the hidden light,
night fury flies past her eyes

everything is tight
blood crushes blood, through
life-less young eye lids
she cries, he’s too fast,

a shrivelled raisin on black top
oh young, that night, and what it means,
the night takes, the air
rips

open, stealing her lungs on the day
she turns.

Away With The Night

You who are with me,
who ache with me, please,
lay still, hold your breathing –
we are sinking
we sink,

beneath wings of bad mothers,
through sad voices of home
our dead limbs fall off,
our bones sleep on their own.

You who are with me,
who are silent at night,
who separate stars, who burn with out light

hold on
hold on
to the hands of these words
we are sinking
we sink

through this very dry Earth.
God isn’t softening,
we are starved by disease,
by darkness, by deepness
of the valley’s between us.

You who are with me,
who ache life away, lay still,
hold your breathing,
hold on to your life,
we are sinking
we sink

away with the night!

Sad Forest Of Dread

Sad forest of dread, your morning crowds me
with loud hatred
and the whole world crawls in my head.
They sit on my couch, spilling coffee and
lies. Gross laughter – snorting
at sticky children.

I have said that I am not a city
to muck around, but they watch me
like my ancient bricks are
Italian art,

my legs,
my hands,
my lips become earthquakes

I am the black silence, awkwardly shaking
against the wall while a baby
crunches tomatoes against my skull,
and this flimsy morning is
scalding me with people

carrying invitations to disease.
I want to be free of
this nausea
and take some of their trade,
but I cannot.

My skin has been nourished by neglect
and poverty, I’ve been
eating grass roots and building castles
for worms,

and if you follow my example, you might be the
wisest, and the loneliest,
to ever sit in this sad, sad forest
of dread.

The Children In Their Sleep

A woman wrinkles over her chair,
soaked in religion, 
piling God’s children on gravel. 
They eat with her disciples
where bread is dry, yet
milk is sweet. 

I stand by with clover. 
I paint the children green and set them up
as chess pieces. 
Confused feet step over boundaries, 
but it is her game. 

Her weight stomps chicken bones. 
Her voice pours like gravy 
over our heads, till I put them to sleep, 
and the lullaby’s rock me
as I bleach time from my head. 

The woman is asleep
in God’s arms, I rest at his feet, 
and the children, 

in their sleep, sing.