Hydraulic Therapy

Pulsing breathing breeding never feeding

Two rise up and three fall down

Steaming waving leaving never weaving

Two rise up and three fall down

Lingering fingering stinging never learning

I hold myself in static wide white and dark

Hiding finding sucking lying never staying

I hold myself in static wide white and dark

Polyamorous dystopia leveling what we saw once before

Syntactical errors manifesting within simple headlines

Geography refusing refuting systematic reclamation

Revising elating fellating never smiling

Only resurrected for propaganda aid

Fethishizing realizing mobilizing never grinning

Only resurrected for masturbatory aid

Signaling figuring triggering never sleeping

She sees me broken in shards in glimpses

Freeing searching creeping never reaching

She sees me broken in shards in glimpses

Monochromatic fixation romanticized as patriotism

Tyrannical supermodels holding congress above us all

Necromancer re-engineered as warrior princess fair

Teething biting licking never tasting

Fallen is Babylon the great, fallen fallen

Speaking reeking leaking never hearing

Fallen is Babylon the great, fallen fallen

Flinching pinching mincing never reacting

Four ponies trip down the hill

Gripping spitting gritting never loosening

Four ponies trip up the hill

Symbiotic union rent asunder thusly forever

Unfathomed heights give way to her dreams

Narcoleptic seamstresses arraying the emperor's finest

It's an Easy Kind of Fire

I am cold, and it's wild. I am so alone, and it's holistic in its embrace. I told her I'd show her my teeth if she showed me her lips. I said, “This is my home, I welcome all brittle bones and stones”, but she wouldn't drink it down. So in fit of childish sophistication I tuck her tightly in her bed and whisper, “Sleep well, my lovely little one. Don't worry, it's an easy kind of fire”.

Memories come like frost; slow, chilling your breath, and destroying fragile things. Her skin is gasoline, and my fingers are matches. They say when ivory meets sapphire then my hunger will be satisfied. They say once I put my seed into her, there's nothing more I can do. She bit off my thumb and ring-finger, and boiled the bones to make a broth, I think we'll put in my mother's iv.

There were two sisters, one was a woman, and one was young, and they loved each other. Their love was strong and wild, like a chemical fire in a meth lab, but their father drove them apart. And after many years they stood over his grave, drinking vodka and sniffing glue. The young one held the woman close, and bit her ear. The woman put her hand up the young one's skirt, and their father rolled over in his grave to get a better view. Now no one ever thought much of their childhood games, but now the sight hits too close to the mark, and now everyone in this small town is terrified of a little love.

I am warm, and it's refreshing. I am awake, and it is bright and irritating. I told him we wouldn't stay long, I told him “I am shedding my skin for you, the least you could do is sing a song”, but he isn't alive anymore, and I cannot bring myself to bury him yet. I clutch his corpse close to my chest and whisper, “Sleep soundly, little prince. Don't worry, it's an easy kind of fire”.

Dreams rise and fall like empires; getting fat and bloated, stretching themselves too far, spreading too thin until they burst. Her teeth are flint and steel, and my tongue is dry bark. No one told me that scars can change the way you see the sunrise. No one told me that when you rip it out, it doesn't grow back. He took my imagination and heart in his fist and shoved them into a blender telling me not to over-think it all, not like the boy-lovers and men without hair. I think we'll give the mixture to our children.

We were two brothers, and we were both boys, remember the summers and autumns we spent being knights and red-blooded patriots in the old yard we called Wonderland? Remember your sisters, and their teacups, and how we made them feel like they would never be harmed? Bandits, and sheriffs, that's what our afternoons were filled with, and sticks and little piles of stones and paper, all for us. No one could touch us or our dreams, no one could understand them like us. But then you grew up, and got too busy polishing your boots to talk with me anymore. You said I shouldn't sleep so much, shouldn't think so much, shouldn't speak and wink so much. I still clung to who you were, I still saw you siting in your sisters' room plucking the strings of your banjo while we talked about the current tax code. I know it's all gone now, never coming back, but take courage brother, me and her will never fall out of love.

Crows

Although one might say that the crows deserve their due
I prefer to sit and talk with you, and to whistle away the hours
I much prefer to look into your eyes, it is such a lovely view

Although one might say that Reaper isn't so bad
I prefer to live my life without his shadow over me
I much prefer to breath in and be thankful for what I had

The Oracle

My face was bleeding

All the demons were sleeping
Those dark secrets that I was seeking

Where never meant for the worms a-creeping

The oracle stood up and flashed me a smile

Her red lips dripping with blood and bile

The oracle opened her mouth and spoke

Her sunken eyes were bloodshot from the smoke

Her words were like knives in my chest

She began to dance and to beat her breast

She screamed a scream of ecstasy

Her body fell limp in front of me

This One Time

I remember this one time

When your moustache blew off in the wind

And I remember this one time

When a penguin stole your unicycle

I remember this one time

When I stabbed you three times in the neck

And I remember this one time

When we were both tripping balls

And we stole a firetruck and crashed into a Hooters

There was a fire-

In my pants!

I remember this one time

When you were pole vaulting

And I kicked you in the nuts

And I remember this one time

When I held your dog under the water till the bubbles stopped

Oh, I remember this one time.......

But we both agreed to never talk about it again

And I remember this one time

When you really liked this girl

So I told her me and you were gay together

I remember this one time

When we both got tattoos of unicorns on our chests

And I remember this one time

When we swore we were the reincarnation of famous poets

I remember this one time

When we drank dirty dishwater

And then we puked our guts out

And I remember this one time

When we would only speak broken Korean

Burn

Build a bridge, burn a bridge

Find the queen, and kill the witch

Build a bridge, burn a bridge

Cheat the poor, and damn the rich

Build up a man, tear down a man

Kill him dead, and watch the light go out

Build up a man, tear down a man

Take his truth, and fill him up with doubt

Build a bridge, burn a bridge

Find the queen, and kill the bitch

Build a bridge, burn a bridge

Cheat the poor, and damn the rich

Quatrain #3

If you are going to cry; please shut the door

If you are going to die; please mop up the floor

If you are going to talk; don't be such a bore

If you are going to walk; don't make it such a chore

The Hunger

The dead body is stricken stiff,

The dark like the womb is warm,

Gaze greedily upon the slender form.

The left hand is shrouded in shadow,

The solitude like despair is crushing,

The bright face is not even blushing.

The man is kneeling before an obscene shrine,

The lifeblood is slipping through his fingers,

The emptiness returns now to linger.

The secret is kept deep inside,

He is preparing his own hell,

Retreating deeper within his used up shell.

The hunger bites back,

The desire cannot be satisfied,

His mind cannot be fortified.  

Wall Builders

Hold the hand of the like minded

Spit in the face of all those blinded

Hold Truth close to your Hearts

Let your mind go as the sound starts

Simplicity and elegance are the bricks in a crumbling wall

Arrogance and innocence are the materials of a larger fall

Gather yourselves together in haven of safety

Lock yourselves up in a warm prison of purity

Look on in silence as the dead begin to live!

Look on in wonder as the dead begin to breathe!

Look on in grief as the dead begin to survive!

The Flood waters rise high and deep

You are all safe, safe inside your keep

The Sun comes out, the waters rush away

The Sun comes out, and the dead live today

Come out of you hallowed and saintly halls

Why must you rebuild your crumbling walls?

Let the dead live in peace, and let the living die

Let the dead learn the Truth, and let the living die

Come out of your strong castles and out of your high towers

Go out into the muddy fields and dead tress they are full of flowers!

Don't go back to your wall-building

Let the Light shine through!

Don't go back to your wall-building

Let the Love come through!

Lazarus Isn't Home Right Now

I revolve, inverted. I evolve, converted. She arches her back beneath me, and cries out for mercy, I curl my fingers into her scalp and dig in, whistling a song my mother taught me. She's so fragile and temperamental, but then again don't dreams always slip between your fingers? She pries open my ribcage and fills me with poison, and lead, and fire. Where once pearls were now rubies glisten. Where once gold flew free now shadows obscure. Where once eyes sat now resoluteness holds steady.

One night to live a daydream, and poof when the morning comes again, everything will be as it always was. Poison is my only hope now, and numbness my truest friend. I find my reflection confusing. I am a spineless vertebrate, supporting organs tied together with blood and bound with skin and shame. My thoughts are all desire and hunger and lust and loathing. She envelopes me in softness and suffocates me in tenderness and yet for all that I know I will leave her broken and disused, disposed, unloved and unwanted. I am nothing, but another scar for her to bear.

I am like a little boy who was bitten by a rabid cur, and now refuses to pet a puppy. She stalks me like a different kind of predator though, not a hound, not a wolf, something slimmer and more precise. Like a snake in the gutter, or a rat in the attic, I jump in fear at the smallest noise and I am never at ease. The smell of them gets in my nose and I can't focus, the sight of them sets me on edge and peace is a pipe dream. So I'll sit with my good friend Jackson the III and pretend I am someone else, someone without my silly problems.

So she lied, what I can do about it? So she took off with the precious little I had left, who's gonna help me get it back? I heard a myth behind the mirror of the day that the Devil and Satan made a deal. The Devil said, “I'll wager I can make men suffocate themselves with their own skin”, to which Satan replied, “Not if I can get them wondering where their hands have been”. And so this is how I know I am not a God, and this is why she stuck me full of pins like a voodoo doll. Just sit back and relax, they tell me, that cold sting against my throat? Oh that? Hm...definitely not a knife, they grin. All those little spot and drips on the wood and wool? Just my loneliness seeping into my home. All that smoke and scribblings? Just my voice and muzzle getting out of hand.

There's this symbol, that once stood for something, something real and heavy, but now these street-walkers wear it like a badge of honor. If you try to speak to them in way the symbol maker spoke, their ears bleed. And yet people wonder why I am so angry with pink skinny jeans and slim black tank tops, and these ridiculous earrings. So I wore it like a bull's eye, and now everyone thinks I am one of those slender mouth-breathers, all aghast and slack-jawed rubber-necking revelry, isn't Europe across the river? Oh wait, that's Illinois, how silly of me. Pistols and training bras, oh yeah, it's Saturday night again, someone hold me down. I am dragging myself kicking and screaming back into the closet, I can't make up my mind if I like it on the outside after all. I swear on Odin's one good eye, the next girl to ask me who the good looking guy with the guitar was is gonna taste cold steel in her womb via my eyes.

I take a handful of nails, to be specific four and five, and I take this hammer, to be pedantic a thumb, and pound them into her chest, his eyes, their toes, our ears, and my erogenous zones. Can you hear the music now, Frances?! You might ask yourself: “Gee, Louie, this is all well and mighty interesting, but what does all this have to do with the girl with your fingernails in her scalp? Not that this little tangent ain't powerful intriguing”, I would tell you to fucking listen for once. Can't you see the connection? There is none, and that's the connection. Sound familiar? Didn't think so. Okay, here, one and one make three. Make sense yet?

The sparks fall on my naked shoulders but I am not burned. Prognosis? If you said I was dreaming, you're in the wrong house, buddy. If you said all of the above, you're on the right path. So two rats are in a boat, and one turns to the other and says “I never got the chance to kiss my mother goodbye” and the other keeps humping the corpse of his sister, because he's a goddamn vermin incapable of abstract thought, with only needs and the means to meet those needs on his mind. So which rat am I? One and one make three, friend. Incidentally, the rats are white. Maybe that will put it into perspective.