Tag Archives: #prose

BABY FLESH INSIDE EMBROY

I smell your baby flesh inside
my embryo heart and took hookah
cord to strangled this dark romance.
My face fell downward to dirt
and kingdom ants ate my eyes:
built a tower of new tears;
a thin bridge toward your mind
She moves slowly towards me
like a doctor seeking new cancer
like candy pharmaceutical
feeding life / i’ve got a brain
oh yeah \ to surprise life
i crawled out of the vat of
dead babies to survive_____
She was sad, said, “take me to
my favorite place to eat to forget
this” her best friend cried.
I’d eat you if you were unborn.
Surprise! Hey, best yet: let
me kill your parents first.

Zero sum.

:: 02.18.2022 ::


GIVE ME BURBON

GIVE ME BOURBON

GIVE ME  BOURBON
 O seasons, Chateaux
a taste of pure snow
inside the rotten Soul

Upon  eyes a moon
upon finger tips
a learned sassy spell
that no one withstands

i want to take you home
give you all crypto-coin
tell mama she’s gone
ah shit:  body and soul
inside Sway ] kissing you
even if bad luck comes
(my way)  steel coming
to slice up that brain |
   & sever a nose,
lusty prowling Cat:
hint — his ribs are stone,
the flame a death that pleases
God if ventured i prayer.

:: 0.15.2022 ::

GIVE ME BURBON
O seasons, Chateaux
a taste of pure snow
inside the rotten Soul

Upon eyes a moon
upon finger tips
a learned sassy spell
that no one withstands

i want to take you home
give you all crypto-coin
tell mama she’s gone
ah shit: body and soul
inside Sway ] kissing you
even if bad luck comes
(my way) steel coming
to slice up that brain |
& sever a nose,
lusty prowling Cat:
hint — his ribs are stone,
the flame a death that pleases
God if ventured i prayer.

:: 0.15.2022 ::


FETUS

WALK unguarded into a dirty birth
catch a bus or disregard footstep
we all live within a city called laughter
selling out at Perth
The little bugs colored amethyst
are already at their work.

Charming faces of popular people
thousands of years ago
i laid a wreath upon those
ancient artificial skies
it’s hard so hard
to find the love lost
pacify weakness
Fetch a friend who is a friend
as long as they are not late
and until they bathe at midday
within the sea.

:: 02.15.2022 ::


GOBEKLI AND HISTORY

SKIES OPENED after the flood    complaining (the future of you)
they stopped.  i stepped off the planks of steps into a new world
with everywhere mud.
  Then came the animals; a hare stopped to smell too.
No clouds but deepest blue skies
precious stones across the ground
 At 700 years old i thought i was a habitual creature
  so organized the streets and politics of a few
  and watched the seasons and years burst — we took the
technology and knowledge of our ancients;
  Gobekli and Egypt and too many civilizations to
tell — so many howled at the moon
although we’d already been there.
Time is a  wave like water cascading
mind is a device of denial
summer like winter for you
a world who has lost its memory
but not the sun nor the moon.

:: 02.15.2022 ::


IN A WORD ARE THE LITTLE THINGS

IN a WORD are the little things
the meaning bigger than me.

Within a Soul is great soup
the tongue and her taste great.

Inside the nest unborn eggs
unpublic – slanted sight!

My unborn babies are largely great
inside only a single name:

a lifelong dying Soul as me –

Admirning time and her quaint space.

A poet? For me yes but you for
saving grace a possibility.

:: 02.14.2022 ::


THE SMELL OF A WET DOG

(I preface this with: FUCK YOU)

I ONCE made love to a corpse
it was still warm with lies
It was bad weather like her eyes
AND she asked, “have you ever
fucked a living soul?”

Then, once, as I remembered:

“Within the absence or presence
of sun once I laid with a woman
and gave her subsistence by love
only to be hated by her.

Death only wants more death.
And her corpse’s flies ate her
through and through.

:: 02.09.2022 ::


THE SHOCK OF IT

THE SHOCK of it.

A mother telling her son: “My son, I won’t let you go to California.”

A young man carries her baby all day long in slings telling him to grow.

Music is ringing into an empty silent room
: a woman lost to grief; and a boy unable to place her
and then her voice and him singing a hard melody, so darkly ironic.

A little singing voice sounds in the distance about a fist coming down hard
on her right breast which hurts beyond words —

: a shadow on the porch

a young woman
a single mother —
chasing blackbirds;
a ghost.

Damp gravel slush raining down on a wood tree, big as a house
covered with silk flowers.

A light touches its branches, fades:

“Ring-a-ling!
Ring-a-ling!”

Mama cries: “Can you make a fairy home out of this?”

“Yep,” I say —

“that’s what I do all day.”

burned bird: the bird must go

(She alone will turn my face to this flame)
bunch of very small black bodies: flocking, in a shadow
of magic, so small, they see their souls away across the ocean
within bird-wings is a full moon.

gone.

HUNTING BOY at the butcher

pink of his heels: she hands him

the armful of feathers

of a dead hawk’s nest,

“now,” she says,

“a nice plumy body and yellow bill.”

// :: 02.09.2022 :: \\


A BOY AND HIS PRIVATE WAR

The boy is working very quickly now, Mariketa; very fast.

A blue light spreads through the garden, enough to make the plants wilt but not kill them.
He’s collecting knowledge so quickly, Mariketa, that we’ll lose our advantage.
He’ll get away, Mariketa.

Why?

He thinks that the white wolf can control a dark servant; and we’d lost our one such, the Butcher.
Can he?

We need to send the boy back to die.

She’s talking to me through the Wolf of the North.
The Butcher of the Red Brotherhood, the Butcher that should have been destroyed years ago, that he should have killed years ago …

The Wolf was silent.

The Trollocs have the field.

I feel them move on the far side of the river, not too far.
Can they turn that loose, to come on here?

No, I don’t think they can.

Their beasts can’t cross the river with their backpacks and soldiers and equipment.
The wolves are too small.

I can sense the other beasts moving in the distance, hundreds of them, coming to the caravan.
It’s a war party, a massive one.

The wolves, though, cannot cross the river.
How large is the caravan?

I don’t know.

I only know that the Trollocs are looking to turn loose a good many beasts here.
He makes a move with his head, as if nodding to her.
He’s saying, “We move the battalion, take these beasts and flee.”
So he’s gone.

I let him go, Mariketa.

He will take the unicorn.

I sense it.

His demise is only a matter of time.

The land is left over, the Grey-Jeweled Queen, and the River Raedah.
No others come to us.

The three armies turn and march back toward the tents.
There, the work starts all over.

The army camps downriver has retreated to the riverbank, providing a covering fire to turn back the Trollocs on the road.

The tents are ready, the tent troops and riding troops have been gathered.

Tales and councils are given to the men to get them moving.

The fires were taken out as soon as the supplies were unloaded, and the area is being kept dark.
That means this part of the plan is at last done.

:: 02/07/2022 ::


THE MOURNING AFTER LOVE

Just a cause by the way.

She awoke at midnight; white was the window
beyond blue slumber of moon-soaked bare
asses, drenched years pass of vision’s veils of /Sundays
she dreamed of red — her nose bled:

enjoying a message in a bottle
oh a message in a bottle yea
from hundreds of years ago

Enjoy in God and be weak and chaste
a burgeoning love upon the waves
she thirsted day and night — wishing someone might get
her message in a bottle //

Writing filthy angonies
toward divine labor that warps a world
she said, “the mourning after love, then the sadness.”

:: 02.07.2022 ::


MOUTH OF SAINTS

LOVE is a shadow of:

evocation
religion
caviar

building a strength
beyond congeniality

She — a baroness
a busy busty Queen
of Hearts so dynamite
blew most minds…

I? A King of Minds
so let them come get me
in their royal robes
those rich bastards!

Most are drunken cocksmen
two-timed bastards
rebel fuckers
says my “mouth of saints.”

:: 02.07.2022 ::