Organ dusters gathered in the church
And some day that piece of paper
Will be yellowed and fragile
An atlas of Heaven
Burned at the edges
Cupped by a dais
The stained-glass story looks on
Colors like crayons
They talk to each other
They want to kill what is good
And praise all that is bad
A cloaked figure shakes his head
Distaste is such a waste
Candle wax burns the hand
As the wrecked world prays and chants
A cup of rain
A bucket of pain
A drum of love…
I was walking into the café with a ghost
I was talking about a dream
Something to do with red berries
And torturous vampire Blood-Ade
“Ohhhh yeah!”
The police come bashing through the wall
Guns drawn, yelling, tear gas and confusion
My only wish is that I had 10 wishes more
Slammed against the wall
“Kiss the plaster!”
Someone rattling off my rights
I’m being arrested for
The killing of another person
“I didn’t do it! I’m innocent. I swear.”
Everyone’s innocent until they do it
Sitting in a jail cell with someone else
A dark brooding figure on the edge of a solid bench
Chin tucked in deep
Sounds like he’s praying
I sit on the bench opposite and watch
He has strange dark hair
And he’s wearing a black cape
“What are you in for?” I ask him
He looks up
His face is pointy and gray, like an old horror movie
“Biting people,” he says softly. “What about you?”
“They say I killed someone. So you better not mess with me.”
“Did you?”
“Maybe.”
The cell door opens, and they drag him out
He bares his teeth at me as he leaves, hisses
I think of volcanoes at sunset
Boiling fire beneath a red-orange sky
I think of a long-ago movie
Childhood cinema
Stars on the ceiling
Sun glares after the show
No school tomorrow
No work tomorrow
Nothing but life
A beaten grocery cart lies on its side
In an empty, stained parking lot
An abandoned store sits lifeless
A canvas for lost souls of the mind
Signage ripped away
Glass sliding doors now a portal of black
A blemish of capitalism remains
We tear apart the Earth for products
Mansions of plastic and digitized life
Walk this way, step inside
Consume, consume, consume
The stars are coated in milk
They show their knife points
Pinpricks as if in a child’s bedtime picture book
They appear between the black slats of the rigid leafless trees
I have to stop and hold my stomach
The sudden yet momentary ache of true life
The path is wide and mostly straight
A carriage road of elder mist
I can see the high hump of a hill in the distance
The moon sways at its point in the sky
It burns white
Visions of others ahead
Two figures stopped on the road
Black coats, blue pants
Fat, bramble molested shoes
Odd scarecrow caps on heads
The people are somewhat bent there
Looking down toward the ground
I see one head slightly turn to look at me
There’s a cupped hand to the other’s ear
I hear a faint whisper clearly
“Someone’s following us…”
I never meant to
I was just going my own way
Then another emerges
From within the thick panic of the forest
It isn’t human
It slaps at the wind and roars
The night is interrupted
Some wayward force from somewhere else
Making its indelible mark
Special thanks to Edge of Humanity Magazine for publishing three of my poems recently: Coffee Shop Rain, The Translucent Wander Pain, and Space Curtain. Please go check them out! Also, a reminder that my new e-book is now available for purchase: The Apocalypse Pipe. The print edition will be available soon. Thanks for reading and supporting independent creators.
The mathematics of the cactus are all a conflagration, graduation to a higher pot and seed and someone please, crush the coma bones inside of me. Look, don’t stop, don’t struggle in the web; let it simply fall away from you as you lie still and quiet in your unending struggle of life, the life, the strife, the compass and the mirror and the magnet call for you to jump out some 300th-floor window and holler out loud as you plunge toward the earth helplessly and superbly to splash down like a watermelon prayer. I am no clock, I am no oven, I am no star-spangled wannabe, I am simply suffering inside of me, quietly fading, baking, shaving, correlating every mystery that abounds behind my eyes and what lie am I when I cannot speak because I am all shuttered up inside like a tender doll house in the direct path of a hurricane and to create what vision for what reason and in what season; the blues come rolling in like hot waves of wonder and puzzling jaunts through another circus day of wandering and piracy and misdirected lust and the cucumber just lays there like a slaughtered calf and we are all so different yet so much alike; all of us just pieces of matter and genetic code and surprise and secrets and lies and lovers in the night hollering emotions through a megaphone whilst some other peacefully sleeps like a dragon roll in some mountain of silver and put me in the coal cart, shove me off to the mine, watch me sail down the shoddy tracks, down deeper into the belly of mother Earth and she swallows me whole like a banana on a wedding night belonging to some jeweled princess who believes in the makeshift power of love and a fast, expensive car and a heartbeat that blips softly and with eventual end.
Special thanks to Edge of Humanity Magazine for publishing three of my poems recently: Coffee Shop Rain, The Translucent Wander Pain, and Space Curtain. Please go check them out! Also, a reminder that my new e-book is now available for purchase: The Apocalypse Pipe. The print edition will be available soon. Thanks for reading and supporting independent creators.
CEREAL AFTER SEX 