Tag Archives: #words


HATE ME tell me i am dead
Wait now, until i’m here
Dread love, say it again
Love you — when i’m here

Love me because
i’m Jesus’ child
i’m not the only one
i’m not the only one

Taste me
tell me i;m honey
like a buzz’d bee
stinging you
waking you alive

Rape my Soul
Suck my silver cord
lick me again
waste me angel again

I was the only one
I was the lovely one
Hive me my mind
waste me again

Bee buzz bite
taste me again
i’m Jesus’ chld
kill me again

Love me
Lick my honey again
tell me i’m lovely
taste my honey
stinging you
so lick me bee
buzz bite me

:: 03.21.2023 ::

A Marriage of True Minds

Love, a pure and steadfast force,
Has not within its heart remorse,
Nor does it sway with changing tide
Or bend when sorrows do abide.

Love is the compass of the soul,
That guides us through life’s endless shoal,
A star that shines both bright and clear
Even when storms and tempests near.

Though Time may wither youth and grace,
Love endures, a constant trace,
And bears all things to the very end,
Beyond the realm where earth does blend.

If my words are false and unwise,
Then let my tongue be silenced, and my pen despised.

:: 03.21.2023 ::

And I love Her

Verse 1:

Oh, such a little pinch, and yet so much grief
Sittin’ on a park bench, findin’ some relief
Me and the bench, we’re just like two peas
In a pod, we’re the only ones that truly see


In this solemn park, where the birds fly
My soul’s undercovered, my heart’s asking why
As the last refrain of nature’s song fades
I know this grief won’t leave, it just cascades

Verse 2:

The bench is baked, but it’s where I find peace
Soulful comfort, from the pain it does release
The song of the birds will never truly die
But this grief, it’ll fade away with a sigh


In this solemn park, where the birds fly
My soul’s undercovered, my heart’s asking why
As the last refrain of nature’s song fades
I know this grief won’t leave, it just cascades

\as free birds fly as hearts released.
/seeing my love you see — and i love her.

:: 03.19.2023 ::

Drowning in Fear

HOW faces smile how they frown
how they find treasures in life.

Being dead living life
in disguises
crying shouting destroyed Souls
Within Hell on Earth,
Living and dying each day
listening to mortal words
i scream Within my circle is a box
unopened and angels pray
to keep it closed
So give me a cold hand
won’t you come closer
inside me : fire mouth
tear me apart thinking love

Mimics call my name again
destroying time space
within all i knew were friends
were others not of Earth

No one changes like you
feigning death to make me cry
flesh like static sand

supernovae come
burn solar systems
Nephlim come challenge me
i have no fear bequeath
spiritual technology
destroys your black hole sun
so come so come so come
won’t you come

:: 03.19.2023 ::

2000 Years Later

Liquor flows upon rivers of deceit
The Earth formless and void in darkness
And the Spirit moved across the water
then Light

“It was good. Breathingh into lungs 2000
years later of asbestos.

03.16.2023 ::

Romance “O pourquoi donc” in E Minor, . 169 (Franz Liszt)

The notes they flutter in the breeze,
A tender melody that softly teases,
With each note, my heart it yearns,
For love that blooms and forever burns.

The strings they weep a mournful sound,
Echoes of passion that tightly bound,
My soul, my heart, to another’s gaze,
A love so deep it sets me ablaze.

The music whispers of a gentle love,
One that’s pure as the white dove,
A love that lasts through all the pain,
And brings us joy amidst the rain.

With each trill and every note,
My heart takes flight like a bird afloat,
On the winds of passion and sweet desire,
With flames of love that forever inspire.

So let the music fill the air,
And guide us to love that’s true and rare,
A love that lasts through all life’s tests,
And beats forever within our chests.

:: 03.15.2023 ::


Just a peck of you
smudge kissMouth
I ate a rose roughTO-
Night — and hunger
for that pink tongueWish
tied to the knot of my
ManHeart deeplyNeeds
wounded bleeding —
sillyMe drama loves
romantic scenes —
stay here UP on the
wooden lit stage —
when the curtain falls
falls Falling below
your knees — I
should say this…

:: 03.15.2023 ::

From Ancient Lands

From the ancient lands of Mesopotamia,
A story of friendship and love,
Of a king and a wild man, united,
In adventures that took them above.

Gilgamesh, the mighty king of Uruk,
A man of strength and fame,
But with a fear of death that haunted,
And a longing to escape that claim.

Enkidu, the wild and free spirit,
Born of the earth and wild,
A being of raw, untamed power,
Who was destined to be exiled.

But fate had other plans in store,
As Gilgamesh and Enkidu met,
And a friendship was born that day,
That nothing could ever forget.

Together they battled fierce monsters,
And faced the perils of the unknown,
Their bond growing stronger with each step,
Their love like a seed that was sown.

Yet even in victory, Gilgamesh,
Could not escape the fear in his heart,
The fear of death that loomed above,
And threatened to tear him apart.

So he set out on a quest for answers,
To find the key to eternal life,
But in his journey, he learned a truth,
That cut through the pain like a knife.

For he realized that life is a gift,
A precious and fleeting thing,
And that true happiness lies in love,
And the joy that it can bring.

And so, with Enkidu by his side,
Gilgamesh returned to his land,
A wiser and humbler man,
With a heart that had been re-manned.

The Epic of Gilgamesh, a tale of love,
Of friendship that will never die,
A reminder that in this journey of life,
It’s the love we share that will help us to fly.

:: 03.11.2023 ::

Eternal Echoes


Toward dark blue skies, endlessly,
Where topaz seas shimmer bright,
In your evening, blooms ecstasy –
The lilies, pills of pure delight.

In our age where plants must toil,
Lilies drink blue distaste divine,
From your religious prose, they’ll coil,
Fleur-de-lys, for bards to twine.

Lilies, lilies, none in view,
Yet in your verse, sleeves of sin,
Soft-footed women, pure as dew,
White flowers shiver within.

Always, dear man, when you bathe,
Your shirt with yellow ‘neath your arm,
Swelling in the breeze, and wave,
Above forget-me-nots, the harm.

Love comes to you in lilac’s guise,
Wild violets too, nymphs’ delight,
Sugary spittle on lips, belies,
Dark passions on a moonlit night.


Oh, Poets, imagine you possessed
Roses, crimson Roses, blooming bright,
Adorning laurel stems, at their best,
With thousand octaves swelling in delight!

If Banville could make them snow,
Tainted red, swirling, in a frenzy,
Blackening the eyes of those who show
Ill-disposed interpretations, not friendly!

In your forests and in meadows so calm,
Oh, peaceful photographers, Flora thrives,
Decanters’ stoppers no different in charm,
Than varied veggies with cross-grained lives!

Phthisical and absurd, they seem to be,
Navigated by basset-hounds at dusk,
After frightening drawings we see,
Of lotuses or sunflowers blue, so brusque!

Pink prints and holy pictures we behold,
For young girls making their communion,
Asoka Ode agrees with Loretto’s window old,
Heavy vivid butterflies dung on daisy’s union!

Old greenery and galloons, fancy-flowers,
Vegetable biscuits of yore’s drawing-rooms,
For cockchafers, not rattlesnakes, like powers,
Pulling vegetable dolls with colors, like in cartoons!

Grandville would have put them round the margins,
To suck in colors from ill-natured stars,
Drooling from your shepherd’s pipes, in wondrous fashions,
Creating priceless glucoses, like fried eggs in hold hats, so bizarre!

Lilies, Asokas, lilacs, and roses, in a pile,
Inspirations for poets, like me, all the while!


white Hunter, running sockingless
Across the panic Pastures,
Can you not, ought you not
To know your botany a little?
I’m afraid you’d make succeed,
To russet Crickets, Cantharides,
And Rio golds to blues of Rhine, –
In short, to Norways, Floridas:
But, My dear Chap, Art does not consist now,

  • it’s the truth, – in allowing
    To the astonishing Eucalyptus
    boa-constrictors a hexameter long;
    There now!… As if Mahogany
    Served only, even in our Guianas,
    As helter-skelters for monkeys,
    Among the heavy vertigo of the lianas!
  • In short, is a Flower, Rosemary
    Or Lily, dead or alive, worth
    The excrement of one sea-bird?
    Is it worth a solitary candle-drip?
  • And I mean what I say!
    You, even sitting over there, in a
    Bamboo hut, – with the shutters
    Closed, and brown Persian rugs for hangings, –
    You would scrawl blossoms
    Worthy of extravagant Oise!…
  • Poet ! these are reasonnings
    No less absurd than arrogant!…


Speak not of pampas in the spring,
Black with terrible revolts and strife,
But of tobacco, cotton trees that sing,
Exotic harvests, a fruitful life.

Say, white face, tanned by Phoebus’ rays,
How many dollars Pedro Velasquez earns,
Of Habana, a city that displays,
Excrement covering Sorrento’s seas in turns.

Where swans go in thousands to roam,
Let your lines campaign, oh poet bold,
For clearing mangrove swamps, a home
To pools and water-snakes so cold.

Your quatrain plunges into bloody thickets,
And returns with subjects great and grand,
White sugar, bronchial lozenges, and rubbers, tickets
To the land of plenty, a fruitful land.

Tell us, oh hunter, if the yellownesses
Of snow peaks near the tropics, hide
Insects that lay many eggs or microscopic lichens,
And scented madder plants, two or three, provide.

Nature in trousers may cause them to bloom,
For our armies, strong and brave,
On the outskirts of the Sleeping Wood, assume
Flowers, with snouts, drip golden pomades on buffaloes’ cave.

Find in wild meadows, where the bluegrass shivers,
The silver of downy growths,
Calyxes full of fiery eggs, livers
Cooking among the essential oils.

Find downy thistles whose wool,
Ten asses with glaring eyes, labor to spin,
Flowers that are chairs, a beautiful tool,
And gem-like tonsils close to pale ovaries within.

Find flowers in coal-black seams,
Almost like stones, so marvelous and bright,
Close to their hard pale ovaries in dreams,
Bearing gemlike tonsils, shining in light.

Serve us, oh stuffer, on a vermilion plate,
Stews of syrupy lilies, a delicacy divine,
To corrode our German-silver spoons, a fate
Worthy of kings, in a color so fine.

:: 03.06.2023 ::


THEIR branches bare, their trunks gnarled and old.

As I grew up, I found solace in silence,
finding comfort in the whispering breeze.
I cared not for human chatter and noise,
preferring instead the rustling of leaves.

Amongst the weeds, the burdock and the nettle,
stood a tree that I treasured most of all.
Its slender form, its mournful weeping,
soothed my restless soul whenever I called.

But now I’ve lived beyond its years,
and to my surprise, I see its stump.
New willows speak with alien tongues,
underneath the sky that we once shared in thump.

Silent and still, as if in mourning,
I stand before the tree that felt like kin.

:: 03.05.2023 ::