Tag Archives: #blood

SLEEPERS IN THEIR GRAVES

That there were no Souls in the World – and no one there to blame – but Me.

That terrible sobs that took the time to lick a Heart that had forgotten how to sob,
or even how to whisper, were redoubled into shrieks, and they kept me from laughing.

O heart of Mine, why do you howl?

If Thou wouldst die, then in vengeance thy Redeemer of Whom, Whose Heart was my own,
and whose Whistle blew wild through the Rails, and who, at one moment when the Gate was open,
as he reached the top of the Jail, and searched the Valley of Doom.

To find my Prisoner there, and to know that his Out-cries had been so wretchedly contrived,
and, because they cried out so piteously, were not stopped at once!

How dare thou, thou Death, laugh? If Thou didst laugh at this, and the world now knows
the Death that has come to me, in consequence of the Puny Strength with which Thine own weakness left Me.

Let the judgment of all come in, and they make the old curse true and then i should not be sad.
For those mourners, the unquiet were they – how the Sleepers in the Grave would cry:
“Those poor Souls!

Is there one Death, for another?”

But though all sleep sound those that dream are always sad. i had a Brother, i knew,
who went for a Passenger, and his Friend had brought him, and held his hand when we left.
The Station – and in the Coach the Friend held up his Heart.

“Poor Brother, my Friend, have you never had Love?”
And his Friend said, “I don’t know that I ever had.”

Then they were gone.

And in my Brain, with a Funeral, i cried, “My Brother has gone!”

When my Brother and his Friend were lost 0i knew, in my Brain, that I should not die –
yet they had gone from me for ever and for ever.

All the Earth is a city of Death – the Sun that has shone bright and cast up its golden rays
must fade into Night, and the air shall turn cold, and the day will vanish like the evening:
when the Sun goes down, and it is Dark upon the Mountain.

Even the Stars, when the Sun is hot fade, and there are not as many as there once were.

The very Earth which gave brightness to the Branches of the Tree shall wither and die and fade,
and the Blue of the sky will dissolve, and the Earth Will shake and fall into the Sea.

The City of Death in which we live is like a great Prison under the Earth.

The Clouds that surround us and Sooth our Sorrows are but Cloths that cover the Dome
of the Pitiless Heaven – the Void where such Rulers as are but Planets, like our own
shall reign.

We have no Ruler who rules by Love, no View from Heaven, no Vision from the Stars,
no One to give us a Joy that would pass all our cares when we are set upon a Mountain,
sighing over the Valley of Sorrow, weither our Heartbeats cease.

Luna can but smile when She sees we have passed the Point
Where the Blue West gives the Shade of Night, and the Tree is pierced with Cold –
and the Night of Light does not come but the Winter wanes.

And all mankind is contained in the Castle of Death.

There is no Labor which an Angel can give, there is no Beauty, there is no Joy,
there is no Heaven.

So for us there is the Earth, and the Flock that bares all whose Flying
is but Death and Murder, and Death’s distant Call, and it is Death, of all things,
that gives us all:

That Taste of Beauty.

While we fly on the Wings of Love, and with our Tears water the Earth
with our Love, our Wings go, and with our Corpse Land to fall upon the Earth.

With the Time comes the Age
When Love is heard
And no ear
has ever heard it,
with the Age comes the Age
when Men look up,
and no eye has ever gazed upon
no Green Earth – when the Tree is cut down
the Earth is bare.

From Blame to Blame
From Sorrow to Sorrow
From Darkness to Darkness
And Death lies on Earth –
The Land, the Water, the Earth,
The Birds and Animals,
And Man – The Land, the Water, the Earth,
The Birds and Animals,
And Man – like the Wings of Love
The Kingdom of the Earth Is a Prison
Under the Earth.

When will We see our Land?
When will We fly away?
When will we light the Nights?
When will we light the Nights?
So my Song is very solemn,
But I hope in it one Hour

When we shall find our Land.
When the Day of Retribution
Is ended, and the sky is blue
and the Sun shines, and all that was buried
in the Dark of Night, shall come to Life.

The Earth shall be green,
The Trees shall yield fruit,
The Green of their Leaves shall radiate
all over the Earth.

We shall catch our Breath,
wnd thank God,
whose Love brought us together,
and made us Wings
for his Flock,

To fly away – the Wings of love.

My Story:

‘His Love is the Light that
shone in the World, 0when the Sun of Love
and the Golden Child was born in the Cave of Life.

And then the Angels said,
“Fetch the Child, bring him forth,
that he may be king of his Kingdom
but let it be done, in the Cave of Life –
therein he may reign

as Father and Son, for the King of Men
must not reign alone.”

They called the Child and said to him,
“Arise, Unto the King of all
the Happy Isle of Love
where You reign as
Emperor of Love.

The Angels called again the King of Love
and said to him, “Arise, unto the King of all
the Happy Isle of Love where You reign as
Emperor of Love.

And the King of Love Speak!”

“If you will not come with me
then fly away!
Fly away!
Fly away!
Let me be alone!”
And the King of Love left the cave of Life
And went up to the Heavens, and came down
and placed upon the Earth

all the Things that Matter.

:: 01.25.2021 ::


NOW MY GOWN AND TULLE

Now my Gown and Tulle
feel the Wind that weaves a Shade –
and on the roof i cannot tell
since the picture there is –
because Time, a Form, stood a-hiding
and well It did.

Words and Music (my own)
Performed by James Dale
and Love.

“He is oft-injured by his men
or with their Menages,

‘I think I hear him say:
“His Portents are the Dews –
His Words the Dews – and Mine –
His Ends are Ieya’s.

“I wish this next Scene were ended
with the Destination of my own Fate –
“The Flight of Orpheus, I suppose,
“Off the Coast of Homer’s Folly –
Or Death – to Eternity.”

Futility was King in the play, under the pen of D. H. Lawrence.
I hope he was a reader of Shakespeare.

Well, I cannot write about this.
It is really too late.
There was an early book, and there is always another.
The fact that Lawrence is a poet is very well known;
and many of his poems have been put to music.

i have heard those – sometimes for many times – though
i should hate to go against the dead.

A great deal is being written about D. H. Lawrence
in the second decade of the twenty-first century.

:: 01.26.2021 ::


REFLECTION OF LOVE

As my sensational sensual moments bleed away and are no more seen by the vilest minds
my face deep within the riches of Earth’s soil away from unthought wars!
Unburdened by high wilt of human rine–
as pure Love has championed over darkly love.

And smallest voices as new born children spiritually cries of Spring keeping new born
butterflies afloat, is where Love strives
as droll god-beasts!

Such is the dance of perception as a reflection
through a prism; or early morning dew drop.

Time that not be for us — as purple roses
are sweeter to the but for me: deeper!

:: 12.21.2020 ::


LOVE CANNOT BE FAKED FOR ONE MORE SHOW

But huge and mighty Forms that do not live like living men mov’d slowly through my mind>
By day and were the trouble of my dreams.
But more marvelous and luminous are the imaginations of men, when their thoughts
are dissolved in soft summer rain; and the faint exaltation of seas and glimmering waters
move swiftly through the silent ocean, her vast wings and high sweeping curves, till with a sudden brightness; of crystal noiselessly an ardent swan of prismatic form, with plumes that arc tween two spirals or the reflection of a circle, gives up a magical report to the air.
And, as a wanderer home, sometimes, well passing around a hill, would hope that behind him the unseen if it come from a distant lofty land, and such it be, a home of peace and solitude to come.
At times of discontent and sickness, pillows covered with white birch boughs, the dark moss
Along the trees was moist, and cottages by watersides still left their grassy slope. But neither trees nor miles of grass, unlike the artificial things of Man, nor grass grown for buildings, nor waters drained.
And purified into a shallow and undrinkable concentration, nor fruit or flowers in sight, reminded me that the long and tranquil stream of Individual life must needs return before the stream of inorganic life can begin to dissipate and come to die. Its long memories have come to slumber as the long-continued dreams of Man.
But I was tempted by the stream. The solitude would seem so natural and so necessary, and be so reserved, and the solitude so good for thought, there was no heat of mind to arouse it; and even the
Exhilaration of the remembrance of that solitude : had a melancholy relief. But, as in death, the last affection awoke; and, sullenly sinking in a swathing silence, I fell asleep; And though my weary limbs
Were heavy, I slept with my mind reclined upon my breast. Come night, the vision of O the Wanderer of the Hills varying with the stars, and evoking each as the heavenly Eye pictures to a man an illimitable hall, and I was conscious of a sinister shadow creeping. It was a living, moving thing, a slithering thing. From the Cottage the shadow came along the steps and slanted over the plough, and on the lawn the grass was raised, till in the distance it and the shadowy Other turned its head; and then the lightning was brought down by the shrill clang of the bells, and though I thought the sky was dark and gloomy,
It was beautiful in the light of the lightning: then as I watched the storm came on—dreadfully fearful—and very thick: the waves and low groaning hills and swift-growing woods and noisome clouds with rows of storm-clouds of flame darting through them, while all in bright lightning the shadow crept.
So, when I awoke, a little later in the day, my body was ill with thirst, and I could not bear to stand up, but laid down against the cold stone and shut my eyes. The shutters had been thrown up of late. Strange and silent to me!
Were the night-cloaks that let in no ray, such light was gone
That Heaven, with eyes closed, was a dull light to me, black. This body on the stone without the weather-worn yellow waiting on, and in contempt, a coarse solitude.
And I dreamed of O in the Marsh—not exactly what I
Had dreamed of O the Wanderer of the Hills, but all
The same like it: but, turning aside as I do to run
(or travel, as I preferred), and every line of the
Ahab plot, for fifty miles, was clothed with strange
Fog like something floating in a vague haze, and more
And more, like the fog on the cliffs of Benares or at
The foot of Mount Almora in Persia, and took me
Into the Land of Vultures, where had past a Harrowing
Of the Dead.

Such were the dreams, which I dreamt in that room, and of which
They were dreams no more; and I only wished with all my heart
That I had not dreamed of O.

:: 10.17.2020 ::


withIN THE BRIGHEST NIGHT (a horror story)

”Life?”

”Are you thinking what I think?” she said, nonchalantly. “”Is this not the place for it, Young Light?”

“My young light.”

“Let’s go in, then, Young Light.” She had other things to do.

For a time she stood over the body, getting a spot for the head and shoulders; he was not whole, for a moment, and the inhuman intelligence within him swelled up, talking in frantic tongues. It was only when he began to faint that she let him go.

“Why did you do that?” he asked, trying to speak.

“He must have wanted us to see the place.”

He drew breath again, his eyes watering with alarm. “Now, put me down, it’s too sudden to talk.”

She started toward the fireplace; the muscular bulk of Hill House disappeared with an incredible speed. The water stopped; a rose was growing in the stream. After a moment she reached into the bathtub and filled it; between one and two she’d beaten Hill House’s heart.

“Go and get the doctor, I’m going to clean him out and see what he’s got,” she said. “He’ll see that—”

He spoke first.

“I was in it for nine hours, you know. You know how it is in the bowels of the earth. Dead sometimes, and sometimes not. I was in that place for a long time, there was no real feeling of waking from it, I have to be honest with you, the only moment in all the time I remember—my body sank in and I floated to the surface and what do you think?”

“Oh, you’re in a dream, boy.”

“But where am I?” What has happened to me, what happened to that house and everything in it and me?”

”Nothing.” It was an accident. I can’t explain to you—there wasn’t a great deal of lighting in the place.” Now stay still, young man, that you may not get scared.” I was falling over a high rock—The house, the electric chairs, the drinks—everything looked ordinary. Then this thin film began to fall from the wall down to the floor. That is all.” I woke up after ten or fifteen minutes and felt I’d been out for hours.” I got out a glass of water, and drank it without thinking what I was doing—I had no idea why I was doing it.” And when I’d got the place as light as I could, I had a slight feeling of ill-health, a feeling that something was wrong; I went to my door and there was only half a window open, the blinds were drawn, so I took them down.” After a time the door opened, and, what was this?” The house outside was gone, just a huge plain of flat earth and another huge mound of rock, open to a great empty field with a large pond of water in the middle.”

“I’ve never been through that!” he cried. “I told him all I know.”

“”I can’t believe it,” she said. “I’d better call—I’m going to call the man.” If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask him to look for us someplace that he can keep an eye on the place and tell you if there’s anything going on there.” I was sleeping when I woke, but when I called I could still hear you shouting. ”I don’t know what I’ll do now,” I thought. ”But we should have known.”

“Here’s the key,” he said. He climbed in, leaning on the bar. There was a pile of clothes in the bed. A loaf of bread lay broken on a mattress.

“He’s put his face in,” she said, sitting by the bed. “And he’s talking. Let me tell you what he’s said to me. He says he’s done it, and he says it was—a miracle, and he says the other people, the whole world—is coming to get him—all in an instant. But I tell him that his whole belief, all his life, was in me, in me and my ingenuity. And that I could have done it all for him. And that I had the plan down to the tiniest detail. And he said, ”Well, you didn’t have a plan down to the tiniest detail, and the plan worked. You only had a vague idea. That’s all.” A miracle, indeed! That’s what he was after all.”

[†]

The electric chair was next. She came out of it as slowly and quietly as she came in, wiping her face with a handkerchief. She talked to him again.

“He was dying. I was going to make it a triple electrocution if I could, it was so awful, and it got to me so all I could think of was I was going to, like, kill the other prisoners, kill the people I didn’t like, they’d probably stop me, anyway. So I had no business dying.”

She wasn’t frightened, he knew, not frightened. But he had a fright at the same time that had nothing to do with the method, with the target. There was a big cloud of dust about her, with her and something like a coffin. He looked at the key in his hand.

She looked at him, and they made eye contact again.

“I told him all I know. I told him all I know. And now, are you with me? Are you with me? I don’t know how it happened, but somehow he knew I’d been listening. He’ll get them all for this. He’ll get them all for this. He always gets his own way. He wants to kill me, and I don’t know what he wants to do with me—I’m only here to deliver the message. I should be thankful, but I’m—I don’t know.”

She was silent for a time, staring.

“I told him I couldn’t help him,” she said finally, “but I can give him a window into the game if you want.”

He stood up and looked around him.

“Surely this isn’t the place for him,” he said, “to have the last act of his life.” I can’t guarantee anything. I don’t want to get in the way. He knows what he’s about to do.”

He walked around the bed and examined the interior of the room. There was a swing on the other side of the room, a bench, an open fireplace, some clothing hanging around. He put his hand on the door.

“Can you feel the magnetism?” he asked.

She hesitated.

“We haven’t got to be careful,” he said. “I’ve got a flashlight. It’s an old fashioned light bulb with a cone shaped lens. Look at it. It’s probably good for much more than mere curiosity. I just have to give you a moment to look at it. It doesn’t weigh anything.”

She examined the light-bulb.

“Well?”

“I have a remote control,” she said. “Just do what you want.”

He looked around again. There were other instruments, but they weren’t important. Just the light bulb and the magnet were for him. He sat down beside the light bulb and turned it on.

“Hurry up, Stacey,” he said.

He waited for a moment, but nothing happened. Then he pushed the button and the light bulb roared to life.

“Perfect, now,” he said. “Let’s check the other instruments.”

He checked the watch on the other side of the room and saw that it was nine-fifteen.

“I’m an hour late, I know. It’s the battery. Just hang on for another ten.”

He went to his radio, plugged it in, then checked his watch again.

“You say you’re an hour late, now. Come on.”

He turned to her and put his arm around her shoulders.

“I’m here to help you,” he said, “and I’m not in the mood to have a crisis. If you don’t give up that damn message, I’m going to have to do something about you.”

“You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

“You can’t make me, Stacey.”

“But I have to do something. What about you?”

“Me? I’m not about to die. You’re obviously one of the Professor’s technicians, and I’m not a woman.”

He smiled.

“You’ll have to go down the cellar, then, and convince him that you’re not a creature and are in fact human. I don’t know what would be behind those twenty-foot windows, but he knows. You’ll have to talk your way out of the cellar, and I’ll be waiting down here. You may not be able to do anything to change his plans, but you can stop him from doing this to you.”

She shook her head, then got up and went to the door. She turned on her flashlight.

“All right,” she said, “if you must.”

She opened the door, then turned it, swung it shut.

“Keep her here,” he said, then headed down the cellar steps.

He felt his way through the dark, lit by the screen of the flashlight.

“I can’t get out, I’m sure. It’s probably locked. I know he had the key in his pocket.”

He saw a little flame from the fireplace and waited. The room was dark.

“Just keep your eyes on me.”

He was very close now. He turned and started out again.

And I’m in a big freaking hole. Where am I?

He had never heard of anyone going to a place that a particular man had been. He went to the end of the alley. He stepped over the cars, back and forth. After a while, he climbed to the bottom of the cellar stairs, laid down, and stared.

Here is where I am.

His body was in a nice, round shape. He had his shirt on, with nothing on his body. All his tattered clothing was next to him. There were also what looked like tiny points of white light. He made a little moan. He felt warmth all over him, and felt his eyes closed. The walls were painted with white, like an ancient ceiling. The earth was black and rough. He made a sudden exclamation of surprise. The moon overhead had burst through the clouds. And he was being pulled by an invisible force toward a black hole.

This must be an old friend of my brother.

He was to lie on his back and imagine himself rising, then being drawn toward a kind of bottomless pit.

I know how to get out of here.

It was a cave, and it had a door. There were real shadows in it, much more real than his dreams.

I can put my arm around you.

He could put his arm around the nearest person, and the rest of him could remain quietly on his side. If it had been a real tree, there would have been something wreathed over his head.

This can’t be the world I’m in.

At last, he knew he wasn’t alone. The shadows, as in his dreams, were completely comfortable. He found he could breathe more easily. He looked down to see that the moon was now so bright that it was tinting the black of the floor.

I knew this would happen. I could feel it.

He tried to imagine what kind of man would have the foresight to go to a place like that. An average student. A modest farmer.

No. It can’t be.

He thought: Perhaps that’s what made me stay with him. If he died, the world would be bereft of his presence. And what of me? What of everyone else? They wouldn’t be any different. I must survive.

He walked over to the nearest flower. It was very white. He opened his hand and scooped it up. It looked like a dog’s eye. He touched the petals with his fingertips and felt a texture. He squinted to see if it was real. He opened his mouth and sniffed it. His nose was there. A fragrant smell. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and let it come up.

It’s home. I’m back in my family.

He placed the flower back in the middle of the floor. He walked back over to the door. There was a handle on the other side.

I’ll open it.

He lifted the door and tried it.

The darkness collapsed around him. He tried again.

It won’t open.

He looked back to the wall. Then out to the direction of the kitchen. There was a crack in the wall.

He closed his eyes, and waited. There was nothing. He reached out and touched the crack in the wall. He felt the low wall. It was not exactly wood, but it was harder. He flexed his fingers.

Nope. I’m still empty.

He took a deep breath. He felt he could give up on the entire house and go back to being an ordinary human. He felt something still attached to him. There was one more instinct he hadn’t questioned before, but it suddenly seemed undeniable: Something. Something that could save him.

He looked down and saw the shadowy shape above him. His breathing was heavy.

I will make it out of this.

The Dark Cave had its defining feature: a hole in the center. Though the wall was metal, it was less solid than wood. There was a cork over the hole, and a wire above it. A man was only a few feet in. The wire reached all the way to his shoulders. The man had been in this hole for ten minutes.

I will survive. I’m going back to my family.

He tried again.

I will be your prisoner.

The victim had trouble breathing, and he felt his pulse build. He was going to die soon. He had to survive.

But I know that’s not true.

Again he closed his eyes, and tried again.

This is not happening.

He opened his eyes and was now seeing the world again.

I’ll make it out.

lThe image of the chrysanthemum in the yard of the cottage wasn’t something he had seen before. It looked like something else.

What in god’s name is going on?

So much blood.

If I survive this, I’ll kill the Demon King and end this nightmare.

He wondered what had come over him. How could he fight? When it started, he could have been so much more powerful than he was now. It had only been a few minutes, but he was already weak.

I can do this. I can survive.

As much as he wished it was different, the scene of the man’s death broke his heart.

I’m going to die.

He felt his chest constrict. The pain was searing. Blood began to pool in his belly. The air began to boil with a cold horror that would never go away. This wasn’t how his father had died. He hadn’t been prepared for this.

In the center of the cottage, the dark opening tore open like a gaping wound. As it dovetailed with the portal to the Dark Cave, it was impossible to see the distance between the two points of light. There were shadows visible only at the very end, and he could not be sure how close to the opening he was now. He could see now that the man was lying inside a wall of death. A corner of his eye seemed to see his father’s form. What am I doing? I’m supposed to be here with him.

There were groans coming from inside the room. Death could be overheard over the rising buzz of the flames. He tried to clear his mind. He opened his eyes and saw a long, thin wall to his left. And the sight that greeted him was horrendous.

Who had died in this house?

Shit.

The man was disemboweled and sat up. He stood straight. He had taken much of the life force of his companions. He stared up, and he looked right at her. He had taken the photo. He looked at her with fury. He put his hands on his hips and grinned.

“You can’t kill me!”

He moved his hands toward his head. The trick, in the midst of the shadow room, was that a sudden dark swatch would give a glimpse of his hands to his left. With his right hand, he stretched forward toward his head.

It hurt, but he stood there. “Can you kill me?”

The woman looked up. “Where was it?”

“I won’t give it away.”

She crossed her arms and smirked. She placed a hand on the table in front of her, near the gurney. She dropped to her knees.

“Come, my daughter,” she said.

She kissed him. He hated her immediately. It was a slow burning thing, that began with good intentions, and then developed into cold familiarity. He tried not to turn away, but he couldn’t not. His eyes were closed. The pain in his chest had left him a corpse.

“But I won’t,” she said. “I won’t take the picture for myself.” She rolled onto her back, one leg over the other, still holding the photo. “If I have to die in your stead, then so be it.”

The mere thought of this idiotic woman, with such spoiled children, made him feel sick. Why was this woman able to walk upright in the room of strangers? She deserved such cruelty, but she was alone. Where could she have been taken? Where had she been taken, and what was her endgame? What were her people capable of? What drove a woman to murder that she only knew for an instant?

As if the answer to his question had been settled, another hand rose. She grabbed the photograph from her head, and shoved it into the man’s chest.

She stood up. “Tell me the truth,” she said.

The man’s mouth moved, but no sound came. He clutched the photo in an effort to conceal his face. “My name is Alan Roy,” he whispered. “My wife…” His hands moved. “She’s…”

The woman reached into a hidden pocket on her dress. In the dark, there was a small pack of cigarettes. It was getting cold. “What’s your name?”

Alan responded, in the strangest way possible. “Stephen.”

The woman smiled at him. “Stephen. I am Samantha. I live down the hall.”

He heard her wiggle her legs beneath her, and she gave him a sideways glance. He gulped, and said, “Is this true?”

Samantha’s shoulders dropped. “I like you a lot, Stephen,” she said. “But no.”

The warmth from his last breath was gone. His corpse shifted, so he could move. “Is this true?” he repeated, addressing the vampire. “If you’re not mistaken, Stephen… You did die.”

Stephen reached into his chest pocket. He slipped the cigarette out and held it between his lips. He looked at Samantha. “Are you looking for your son?”

His teeth gnashed.

The woman flipped her cigarette off. “Of course not,” she said. “I didn’t kill him.”

Stephen hung his head. “There is no reason not to believe me,” he said.

The woman walked back toward the door. “I am not the vampire,” she said. “I’ll be your witness to the truth.”

He saw Samantha glance down at the portrait of her father in the portrait gallery.

“I am not the vampire,” she said. She slowly walked toward the door, but after a moment, she turned and stood facing him. “Stephen… I… I love you.”

She took a few steps toward him.

He raised his hand. “You owe me an answer.”

His body tensed.

“No,” she said. “I cannot. I cannot. I must speak to him myself.”

She turned and made her way back to her apartment. He ran to the wall, followed closely by a silent wave of fear. As she walked toward the dining room, she looked back at him. When she reached the door, she reached back, and she reached between his hands. She pressed a small box between his fingers. It was almost empty.

He put it down on the coffee table.

“Do you love me?” she asked. “Do you love me?”

When she turned to walk away, she paused, and she looked down at the empty cigarette packet. He exhaled in response, and the cigarette dropped to the table. She raised an eyebrow, and then her mouth parted slightly. He thought it was a tiny smile. She started toward the kitchen.

He turned back to face her. “I love you. I love you, Samantha.”

The door shut, and she turned the key.

“I cannot allow myself to believe,” she said. “My father and I had not spoken in so long. I had worried that he had perhaps gone back to his homeland, where his tyrannical rule once more ruled. I have noticed how you appear to me. I should not be so rash. I may have overdone it. Perhaps I can change my mind.”

He nodded. She opened the door, and stepped inside.

Her apartment was filled with lights, and was filled with the bustle of people. Three couples were cuddling together.

“Hi, mom,” said Samantha. “How was your day?”

Samantha held out her hand, and held out her cigarette. She inhaled through her nose, inhaled the smoke from the pack, then blew it away.

“I like this. You’re cute.”

Samantha opened her mouth, but then she turned away and coughed.

“Oh, okay, bye,” she said, closing the door behind her.

The light made her face glow.

Samantha stepped toward the new portrait in the portrait gallery. As she approached, the now-blood-red doll’s head brushed her feet. Samantha noticed the doll’s eyes. “Will my father ever know that his doll killed me? I am sure his anger will burn with him until he regrets his passing


FATAL THUNDER

fatal thunder was the best one had when she came to me for advice about his economic condition.

she was my first client, she said to me: My husband says I’m a fool for waiting for anything. I’ve been a mistress and a wife and a nurse, but I haven’t made a penny on my own. He makes a living as a taxi driver. I live in a modest bungalow and he has a sprawling country home. I make housework and keep the yard and the cars and two cars in good repair. We spend every weekend in our country home and whenever he is away he brings the mistress and the mistress’s boy and the mistress’s boyfriend and the three men together.

He was twenty-six and I was twenty-five when we married.

I’m not a fool, I told him, and here is how I earn my keep. First, I gather the money in envelopes when it is in my immediate possession. Then I write checks when I am told by the client to do so.
I keep the checkbook with me so I know who I have to go back and ask for more. I have a reliable mover. I have a reliable chauffeur. I have an accurate accountant.
This is how I do it.

When I get in the taxi, the driver asks me the destination and I tell him, and when I get there I get out of the taxi and tell him where to go, and when he takes me to the hotel or the house, I give him the key and when I am getting ready for bed I give him the bill for the room and then I turn out the light and go to bed myself.

In the morning I get up and say, “He’s a fool for waiting.”

I’ve been doing this a couple of years, but now I’m running out of the money I got when I first started.
I don’t get any more checks or checks with letters of explanation from my client, and the money is not growing with my business.
I’m sure if I wanted to I could get another job and earn more, but what would I do with all that time?

It might be difficult for me to do.

So silence and pain are my bed brothers. Love is my sister. Together we weep every night.

:: 09.26.2020 ::


DEATH IS NOT WASTED

DEATH sheltered upon the spit of dying souls;
sun and heat a giant cat with one flat foot
upon a devil’s wing — the homosexual and
amorous spirits that cross a garden in dead
of night make scary sounds.
my throat an elevator from heaven descending
toward hell with every swallow; my non-
existent ring upon a broken finger as throbbing
sexual oysters.

to smell the clean spirit of angels are as hanging
clothes upon a clothesline within a Spring’s breeze.

:: 09.21.2020 ::


DYING & HUNGRY

I

Not a firefly but equal
to a glyph and less or more
as light within a cage of flesh
steals like riots —
my mind prowls the poverty of
Life.

Excommunicate while suffering
without shutting up  and hearing
past ghosts whisper:

“dying & hungry.”

08132020


SEE BELOW

PSYCHOLOGICAL BIOLOGICAL

to be born fragile
is human from a woman with a star
within her WOMB: a dream / she wields
life & love i begin with a small
insignificant life; quiet clear. oh.
Yes. Me. Oh. so small. i ATE the
minds of lesser ones. weaker ideologies
Used examples of foolish
things… me. I killed when needed.
the lesser souls that hated me.
I dredge their bodies from the swamps
of my soul; and burning eyes i closed
my eyes/as i count the body count.
so my dreams are ancient and Aztec
beliefs keep me moving. so human.
is this an ignorant than to do?

:: 08.03.2020 ::

to be born fragile
is human from a woman with a star
within her WOMB: a dream / she wields
life & love i begin with a small
insignificant life; quiet clear. oh.
Yes. Me. Oh. so small. i ATE the
minds of lesser ones. weaker idologies
Used examples of foolish
things… me. I killed when needed.
the lesser souls that hated me.
I dredge their bodies from the swamps
of my soul; and burning eyes i closed
my eyes/as i count the body count.
so my dreams are ancient and Aztec
beliefs keep me moving. so human.
is this an ignorant than to do?

:: 08.03.2020 ::


I SOMETIMES DREAM UNDER THE MOON

i dream sometimes — i dream
of expansive fields
of flowery love where fear
does not exist is what i
sometimes dream: i dream
i woke up within this dream
and could do anything my spirit
and heart wish’d : i wish to
be within expansive fields of
flowery love where fear does
not exist is what i sometimes
dream.

i dream.

:: 07.25.2020 ::