Piece Puzzle Raven

The scaffolding is falling from the rafters of the old church in which we hold this service, the piece puzzle raven is the director this evening and we shall read from the book of sex and wisdom. Life incarnate in a minute, we hesitate and stand straight and sing together without voices, just whispers in the nightfall.

We shall rise to the occasion of the calling of all memorabilia of older days and were summoned, risen back from the master/slave country. I will shake us free from our thumping of former chains, forging ahead we reckon with the once fallen serpents- now monsters of another nightmare altogether.

We unite together in a coven unlike many around in the times past and forward of us. The Speaker of the House will need a second to that motion, we calm down and sort it out. Crimes of oil and blood, government and tortures of the state and mad rain men that sit in juries and on stands now, swearing and muttering about the coming of the Disciple Age of serial photographers and planes in plain sight. 

Careful ones high up on the ceiling on these matters, miss the machine by even a moment will help you catch a whisp of relief in the crunching feeling you have in between your ribs. Honestly, hot sex helps me. Connecting and turning us out, we are creatures that don’t mind to beg for a moment, crawling on the dance floor, stomping the lights to dim I shall distract us from the turbulence, from the unknown stations of the cross. We wait to thirst through the draught and see the moon howling again in the daytime. 

Creep the Freak

Forget the synthesized method of communication that you were trained as a baby for, with the doctor on speed dial you may still run astray from the messenger that came to reapply the product of breathing. The jester bows to the Magus and I swore she spat gore and for-knowledge of the underneath water groans,

 the tower falls into the arms of its lover and never remembers to wring the hands of the watchtower when it is her time to tell the truth to the night. The sand harms the watchmen like a butterfly dancing on a hot witch doctor’s hat as he hands out prescriptions for new shoes and a waistcoat from 1927

 (which is still being hanged in my closet)- the watchmen sit on the train in silence. We are all waiting for something to happen whilst we slumber and cough.

Above the screaming children, I sat in my favorite tree and watched the old men walk by in their sneakers and blue shorts- all wearing the high socks and swinging their arms from side to gander the flower, the brick pathway: I saw the laugh of old eyes and memorized the body language of everyone walking by.

 The swan believing itself to be a frog, hopped in its flatfoot feet and croaked into the morning air, waddling with the swine, they discuss the afternoon tea and the uncanny disappearance of all the mushrooms that used to sit and chat in my front yard, just below my swinging tree.

I miss you when the moon is out, you seem to hang there like a shadowed light and I wish you could hear me from your height. Call out against the warfare sirens, the gods shake their fists and are getting bored: we are ever just the chess players and game watchers. Feathers float down from the birch trees and I kept looking up and never saw that damn bird fall from sky to a branched suicide, caged we sometimes feel as if we see nothing that is standing and gloating in front of us.

Gender confused and fervently queer, I cater to the unknown- creep the freak in the head and through the body, we electric each other into other dimensions. I gave a sigh and went through the smoke shutters and the ice pick to enter in to the shadows under the carpet. Never knowing what you may find in this average musky setting- tree trunks with lightening marks where fire surged through the insides, lip gloss lovers, candied apples and a feeling of playing pool in the basement.

I think I’d rather further along my own way, narrowing the eyes of many and the lungs of others in the crowds in my bedroom today. The mixture hardens with the rest, the mad hatter will take off his hat and listen to all motions of the court- one by one and not so loudly- I know everyone has something to say about everything. Wait your turn.

My ears are only so big and my brain not much bigger. My third eye is like a volcano of expressions, channels, personalities, characters and the like. You and I are always going to be different, just the way things are.

The three wine and dine together, split me and her, we stand sacred and alone. That was at least how it felt when I was awake and asleep, I can’t speak for the in between. The grey areas usually speak for themselves. Tangerines were just not enough in the midst of all this, more aid would be nice.

You know lady gaga, Ive got to say Im starting to wonder why “I Like It Rough” as well. I didn’t want it this rough. People hating all over and many times people I did not expect. However, two can play cards. Chess is a two person monster that I am prepared to play out. Wrath has nothing on me. I ate him and then rambled on. 

Tapped Telephone Wires: Medication Media and Madness

            Telephone wires were cut way too much in the city of supposed seraphim. You ran to those corners daily to get the news that the devil came back into town today, wearing an apron. I stumbled upon the hermit daily, talk it out through me and we will all hear you, one way or another. I will not falter at the last steps towards a new age and times changing into the infinite. We march on, regardless of the temperature (though it is stifling hot out there to be sure).

Apart for the medications media and the melancholy madness, how are you? I seem to be somewhere in between desert storm and a chainsaw through the mad hatter’s hat. Bones are scattered in the sand, left driving us home in the middle of the night just after the bad storm that shook the house's tight rafters and below.

It was rotten luck to catch the steal wagon on a blazing day as this one, the wheels burning and slightly crooked, veering towards the right. Exhausted from interrogation and searing tongued vertigo, I wait- for time to erase itself. Ancestors’ role-play in their graves and wait for you to wake up, hide behind something else for awhile.

The caged know-it-alls sit in their thrones and panic on the moats around the bedroom, I shake as well sometimes for fear of it again. 

The Channel that Shakes

            I surrender loudly to the channel that shakes wildly in front of me. Open up to the doorways of the gothic icons, these Mary’s of saints and brethren keep spinning and turning till their minds are swirling in the dark as they curse the night, live up to the worlds above and below your energies- shift them into forces of shields and mirrors.

We rise from the covers, the curtains and veils, the see through blouses and black bras under yellow shirts. We glimpse through each other’s eyes and know that we are indeed connected, two birds sitting on a mousetrap- naked we blend in our space and create a time travel of our own.

The phantom marches on and you feel as if half of you is radiating light and the other an optical illusion or the truth found in a solemn moment. Gasp into me and we shall reconvene here and re-frustrate our potions, poisons, positions, parentheses. We lost our faiths and flaws while we were running through the muck and the mud, moshing it out like a renegade star shooting out of a black hole.

We recover our throats dry, our teeth ache and our limbs bruised and beaten. No matter the conditions outside, fuel on and the wind will never fail you. Dragons can keep their tongues shut for now, coming forth is the queen through and mirth she lay in golden surround-sound, lovely. 

The Cheshire Cat Takes The Stand

Injecting hormones into the variant brain structures that are profiting the already wealthy, I saw the stains, the tunnels of twists and turns- we writhe together in the sand pit that is burning ice cold. Pain can be breathed through in a fashion of wit and irony.

I gave the Cheshire cat his moment to purge, to lengthen, to stretch and gasp: I understand you, brothers and sisters of a coming of tirade miracles. We were warned, I suppose- wanted also,

 I believe by many to harvest powers beyond our own control much less in control if the puppet master is the culture we stand in, waist deep and rising. Awake we find ourselves scarred and scared, one life can only be lived through others, maybe, I don’t know.

I strangle the riptides just like everyone else and indeed can for-see the violent shafts of light, liquid accommodation, haunting images of New Orleans figures- beautiful with passion to ignite the fires of hell itself, keep shining, I pray you. I miss you daily. Bayou is a loved and learned experience, a habit you can’t break honey. Got to get me back there soon to “re-vamp” as I suggest we all should. Oh yes, I think so.

Give us back the night, willing to dig and drive to metal what we lost thus to regain, in time, some of our divinity. Gathering together our tough instruments, distinct talents and forever fleeting backwards into a heron pond, we bite the thirst back to flex the feeble- misfortune had its mark, the hunted can be once again haunting.

Maybe I got on the ark as a virus, morphed and fizzed into this being, from time and time against the certain current, we got free all our windows and mirrors and now descend back onto the earth.

Was it worth it, this humanity, this language of congress, initiates of other religions and demises of all kinds, left stranded with the water rising a bit below your eyelids as you float and wait for some hand, candle, tapestry of wanting to be alive: rise above your awareness.

Alice standing in front of the looking glass again, watch her eyes fade in and out with the clock- hold on to yourself and plunge in again, as you do and we follow ahead.

I listened carefully to the cries- we lament the dead, the dying, and the living. Strange times are these when everyone is afraid to stand still in a moving crowd and look around. Is this what we want? Do we like where we are headed?

Masses blinded by a shiny object in the sky that is unattainable, capitalism spat out like angels- pathologized, cyborged, and aching scream out to a darkened sky. We only live once, or so they tell me. 

Violins were the start of the resistance.

Violins were the start of the resistance. Though macabre, we sat in a circle and thumped the beast out together so as to not forget the reasons for being here in the first place. Tom Waits and Alice sit aloft the tower, heads down with crooked necks they keep the time running on its heels. Covet the circumstances in which clothes were exchanged and identities lost in the awake hours, drenched in the sun through the window though we pain for eternity to last a lifetime.

Battered women and sacred Egyptian goddesses are harvested for their weaponry and rescue profits: the government smiles while you turn your back to see the sun set on the third day.

Walls harbor us no safety, we stand naked and wishful thinking want for peace and silence to gather our wits and nash our teeth through the flesh and chains that hold us here. December brings a frostbite that lies to the neighbors long enough for us to continue on our backs towards river track through the forest.

Mob monsters rape the children of the fortunetellers, gypsies gave way to vampire earrings and eyes that will melt the monster out of you- swimming toxic flattery and forgivable misfits come to the surface and stare me in the mouth.

What was the willow sleeping in when the guards came to arrest him, weeping in the night we walk with you to the cross and crop circles spread across land and sea alike and are akin to melodies dripping out of tongues, licking their way through chaos terminals and viscous serpents bite the desert dust, a sign of reverence and dispute amongst themselves and their court jesters.

I saw the razor to the wrist give in with a sigh and I lifted up the girl from the mud to find wings wrapped around her, keeping her safe from the fates of the men from centuries past to be awake again anytime and soon to preach out the same stanzas over and through the mists of Avalon.

I dance the harlequin to sleep and mystic perfumes lead us astray from the poison pit that was meant to give us back to life once again, so we heard and believed. Following a leader can be just as hard as trecking a path of your own making- culture is unkind. Thus resistance was imperative to the transfusion of light into red darkness and back again.

Hearts never hurt less, every blow was a hit in the head by the ferris wheel that came toppling down on innocent bystanders and the mythos of detox heroin computer programming. Give the serpent a wink and he usually keeps your secrets for you, at least until you’ve forgotten what you have told whom and where.

Serial killers pulse to a different racked torrent than other bees droning on to find their masters’ house empty and the family dead, caught whilst eating dinner and the apple pie burned in the oven. The world caught on a pinwheel of dissonance and scare tactics, and we welcoming in every new age with still hope for the future, somehow.

Barbie dolls walking around and standing on streetlights asking for change, for sex favors and money tips on the newest fashion markets that came from the western and east north regions of someone else’s hemisphere.

I asked the queen, just this once, for relief and got a mouthful of chalk instead. Head to the ground, we dig our ways and ins and outs, through the brimstone and water lilies, past the weeping willows and the cats sitting in their perches. Under water and through the fires that lead to nothing, we persist and resist on—a magnet to the earth, we are.

Keeping step with our ancestors is a learned cause and now to mock out loud the past insects and feeble tongues of ages Cancer and Capricorn (or so I heard from a transvestite with a whooping cough disease). Stand and be alone altogether and learn to topple the jabberwocky by one’s self, adapt now to take on the chess game and set of a lifetime of learning and patience. Caught in the shape of an eye, wink and take flight. 

Cancer Choke and Shamans

Cancer stood and then shouted in every room of my goddamn house. There was no talking him off the ledge, no bargaining for an adult conversation or a quiet discussion of pros and cons: just flax and golden dripping cells that liked to jazz the night away with his headphones on and tantrums ablaze until the thirteenth hour when the elevator seemed stuck and the liquor flows on down the hall and sinks into the carpet, secret requiem and lacrymosa valentines.

Let’s grow toxins and tumors and then build a home here, bring the kids and the grandparents and we will set up horrorshow camps in this darkened space, warped telepathic channels and dissonant esoteric figure heads that just enjoyed the sound of their own babbling voices. The brain was a shuttle bus that was never on time when the earth cancered us all, delivering our bodies to the maker and forever taking me away from my kindred hearts, my nights and mornings forever lost in the fire.

Lust and loss came in the room together holding hands. These two requested to be named together for this number and I can only cater to the faceless ghost that is the language that I have, the words didn’t bother me too much as long as they kept their mouths nailed tight shut like a orchestra conductor on his coffee break.

Incarnate cancer into an embodied angel, I shall wrestle you until the tide comes in and washes the sand off my body and away into the a stream from once I ascended onto this green and bloodied mound, this haunted and landscaped protagonist. Make me sick to my stomach with hallucinations and voices of the dead weights on earth

musing with the lightning bugs that circle the lampposts in the summer. I miss the thicket talkings with the slimy banks and muddied river as it descends into darker waters and the ice hungers to be birthed to the surface again, the distant embryo making lovers sense they are not alone in a war that will tear them and then wear them as protective gear for the undercover insurgents.

My limbs then quake from the turbulence of the storm clouds colliding, the mannequin masked faces tied to strings from heaven seemed to cry and then lapse into an iconic moment of memory loss and seizures that erupt on the planes and folds in my brother’s head. I wanted to shave off my years of living to let you have a few more moments of life time. Blood knocks hard on my brain when you lay up at night, staring at the swirling ceiling that does not forgive easy.

Cancer chokes me with my sleeping hours- mixing in time with the seconds in which my eyes are open to the dreams of my fellow fornicators and fundamentals. Coursing thunder skies above lead me to ponder the death of my sweet sanity and all of her friends lovers over the years of the monkey.

Die fiercely and forever, epitaphs that never encompassed the essence of a broad or narrow idea of a being, mostly a gloved hand holds your own as you watch the casket set into the ground. Time carries us away but does not make things easier than baking bread like my mother

used to do when I was young and confused as I am now and indeed living on lighter fluid and harsh harmonies that drown out the lead actors (causing quite an angry weatherman to predict hazardous conditions in all of the nation-states and decimal caves of the coughing underworld).

An appetite for shamans and pencil lead was not uncommon in this part of my basement, thus I let you have your way for just this once. I will die to resurrect you, the phoenix takes the fall and will not bother to ask you if you mind or what you want or where to meet once all this filthy Freud

century is over. Choice was as variant as the music that wines and dines the base of your neck, your bones weakening to temptation with the night as it is in the flesh, and tourniquet trains slid through the brains of the cancer patients yet to be discovered, yet to be shuddered and sensed out of their minds- alone with me- we shall rock and sit and talk about our next frame of reflection, the light of a candle, the end of a lovely afternoon, and the words of dying men.

Sink down into the river with me

Cerebral fluids were escaping through your tongue as we parked in the garage and made out for an hour until the thunder stopped. I was aware that you wanted to take off my clothes but I felt a hint of the demon rising up against the twilight, circumscribing our lines and curves, imagery in an instant. Perfumed whores lead the way to the resurrection, and you can’t seem to see the signs that the world is coming down with its head in the groundwater that runs off the hills near my house.

             Sainted seclusion thwarted this broad flavor of tempest, our inaction to thirst and swiftly tilt vertically towards the starlight. Sink down into the river with me, bending tides with our bodies we come to the surface as infinite invalids with our medications and syrups mixing with ebbs and flows of blood and water. Wine tasting kept my eyes shifting north to dimensions unseen by the carpet and the trainers of circus freaks. Mystery involved itself in our dealings with breeding hounds of hellfire and third-eye sightings of ice under water and breathing.

            Heavy sighs come from the back corner of my room, no one standing in the midst of scarves and suspenders, lingerie and secrets, post-it notes taped to my wall to remind me of my future, twinkling lights and lamps of all sizes, laughing postcards mixing with the reverence of the stereo. 

            Din cries in the midst of the hangover hurricane, harbors born anew from the wombs of the wounded wonderland women, abortion laws held tightly to my chest, making it hard to breathe in this sea spray ceiling. Refer me to your maker and mark these syllables as a divergence from destination. Pathways to resistance can turn and follow me home when I wasn’t expecting company.

            Muses running through their dollhouses, graves arising to meet the family, and you set down your glass for a moment to recover from the end of the receiver telling you that your dad has gone to play a joker’s hand in the world of hysteria. I seethe then in insomnia and sit on Harlem’s porch-light stoop, heavy and unforgiving. Creep show ladies scoff at the dying of their pockets more than the weight of the world and its brethren, howling in agony.

We come together, patching wounds with calm and heart-warming hands that pulse a healing fever like your grandfather did when he was alive. Death can be a brain stinging sensation of tyranny, chaos metaphored to a migraine and a mild sedative. Twisted euphoria, I gave in to the thrills of nature- systems of oppression sent secrets to the forefathers of the pyramid, sitting high on thrones of incense and enamel. 

Wait for the quantum electric, see the sun god and say hello, and then there is the forgiving the cast of masks for the torture of the youth which is the hardest eye to unblind: humanity wrapped up in its little shell- so unaware of the crawlings and carryings on of the forces of gust and sensory. 

Alchemy reigns the nightfall.

Sequestering werewolves by classic conditioning, the government gives us pause to reconsider if monsters are not all around us. Keep quiet for a moment, and watch the teething process begin, steps taken to tranquilize the beasts of the dawn and damned. 

The spiral descended on the western plains of America and the Tea Party was co-opted by big hats and large checks to the NRA and Big Brother, same difference if you keep your eyes stapled shut and listen harder than your predecessors. Our villages burn and you seem to worry mostly about the taglines in the cosmopolitan black box that’s left on the lower shelf of the only bookcase in the pentagon. 

Fashion, if done well, declares war on the elite. Where the hell are our differences that make us beautiful? Feathers fly without owners in the night with my dress sliding off my shoulders and no one even seemed to notice the birds dying with oil in between their fingers. The air frisky with its own divergence from the mediums that sat and spat out hypo-necessary intelligence for the apes in the corners of a particular special performance with its VIP encore by someone famous (all other information is classified at this dying hour).

A lounge to the left and down the stairs, I sit and feel as if I am in the wrong time, the naked body bearing witness to the future, the corporate entertainment bleeds the lamb dry again, the scarred sacrifices of teenagers all over the globe in their track suits and stockings. We write to be heard and reckoned with.

Throats deep in the marshes of “Babalon”, Crowley and his witches seem to resound in the thoughts of men of magic and circumstance, plaster and fortune tellers sitting under the earth, waiting for these previous moments to pass and for the risen serpents to take their heads to the throne, splitting bodies (as they do) to sound the alarm of a new wakening. Give in to the sound of light.

Commune with flesh, bones growing and tumultuous changes to come in the generations of poison, drink and be changed. Take the channel and live through it, surround the women around you with light breath and own your own memories, if you can know them in the sense of bible therapy and red herrings.

I beg you to silence. Just sit for a moment with the vampires of old ages, sages of a dark sort to be sure but with power and presence of being above the callings of car parts and vehicular homicide. In your mind, I lie awake.

Blaze to feel sincere about comments on love and some kind of peace in the world, shots of whiskey to save your personality and all this froth ascends you to turn into entities floating above your actual bed frame. Astral traveling, leaving your veins to fend for themselves, you score heights and forensics and cells of bastard renaissance men. The best in the business, I can assure you. 

Dollar signs can be heard from miles in the distance regardless of a strong sense of smell and an appetite for fear and endangerment. Even still, drag me to the king and I will not look him in the eye, tears to fall as he explains the fate of women and our contested embodiment.

Empower these stone angels, anarchist dictionaries to read alone, steam to cover up your debts, foggy weather to desert storm, as we surrender to a mass collective- No more. We shall stagger to the ground and lift up our spirits to an unknown and monolith source, back to the feeding trough to start again from ashes and acid rainfall. In the jungle, no one has a name.

Today however, the place is of your calling power into a being of nature, a radical pathway from base to mountain, a train leaves the station at half past five without its conductor or any destination. Spark out loud and feel the need to move, to stir around with other pentagrams and postulates. We dine together in the seeds of hell, and tonight we drink the blood of earth, liquor for the gods and animals that transform us. Alchemy reigns the nightfall. 
- Megan 

Dancing with the devil on a g string: Channeling

It was a difficult tempest, forging through the marketplace on a Saturday afternoon. I witnessed the media perceptions of wealth and harems enough as I melted chocolate with a hot spoon (setting fire to metal with my burning hands), stirring and watching the medical history of cancer erupt on the front page of the press, newsstands and reverends pleading with the nations for opposite virtues- more or less a balance in the tide of fashion and flavor for a higher power.

Immortally inclined, he counts his change and wonders if he can splurge on a cup of coffee. Times are hard even for the nectar queens with their high top sneakers, restaurant gods and witnesses of first-degree murder- all hyperbole and stark raving electrolytes have a wish to yell out their grievances towards a harbor state that couldn’t see the sun save for looking down at the pavement to check and make sure his shadow is still there.

Luckily I kept extra creep shadows in a skull and crossbones bag that I bought for seven dollars at I shop I know down in the crop circle district, next to the pyramid building of the Illumanati that stands in the dirt from which I grew. The mythos of the underworld was cathartic: all dimensions seemed faint, and the nerves underneath this soft skin are undressed to show the perceptions that I dance from one drizzle day to another.

 Swept over the bridge of a fortnight ago, I carry the stream down with me to our resting place- a dam set to the tune of the Moulin Rouge with all her outfits set out on the bed in her dressing room, lipstick and stockings already adorned she dances in front of the mirror while no one watches but her window and the fan that easily ruffles her undergarments.

Seizures and architecture angels gather in the wings on the theatre, each rehearsing in their final minutes before performance: those vicious steps that aggravate the senses of all in the audience, caution tape to be set down later- we receive note from the piano player that beginnings are around us and through us, five minutes till curtain up. The show being ready for us to take it off its training wheels, out of her braces and backpacks of Lisa Frank, and this middle school fever and fraternity that was found so many times in the empty aisles of this mechanical theatre during tech week. 

She grows quickly and now the entrances and exits of this veiled subtle playing ground open up to us as if paranoia was expected, prophecy was indignant and said whatever the hell it needed to, dance was deviant, and this was a blood-soaked exorcism to be sure. Two minutes till curtain, six cups of coffee, at least a pack of cigarettes before the performance is done and the sentiments of the puppets’ strings are draining through the spaces in the heads of this clapping recession.

Dance was a rising of the serpent spirit, a channel of literal embodiment of music and persona in front of an audience. I take the time to form an existential philosophy around these movements of vengeful anarchy. Shake the tyranny out of your bone marrow, once and for all (until tomorrow). I sat in my white wooden chair that my mom and I painted when I was a kid, and I wait for these masters of disillusion, these fortresses of purgatory to share their rhymes with me and together, music and feet stomping out the silence.

I swoop and shift, bird fingers and feathers melting away off my shoulders. I will change for you and in front of you, every artist giving and taming their respective closets. Shall I strive to meld these steps of efficacy and tolerance? I like to listen to all kinds of music as I choreograph. Pacing to the beats that change with the tick of the clock, die on the dance floor and lift up from the water that surprises us, drowns us, and wakes us up once again in the morning.

I was instructed by my body, shaking tumult and a sexual pleasure that can be heard for miles. Requiems and inscriptions on the body, I formed movements blind and to myself make the music and the cause behind clear, efforts and catastrophes bind us to the physical world where even the most dedicated of angels dare not trespass into this abyss madness and scrutiny. 

Legs wrapped around chairs and bible thumping hands take me to new avenues of expression and my thoughts on the economy, the music industry, and the persistent drumming that throbs my body’s arousal to speak through the storm, to dance through the tumult, to look you in the eye and swear that I will entertain you.

I sit and see flashes, visions of our music artists and their yearnings. I carry out their theatricals and voice chords channeled through my shoulders and arms, spreading through my torso and down through my thighs to my bare feet. Ecstasy in furrowed moments, space slows down and gets a ticket to see this audience applaud a haunted divergence from the mundane psychoses that wait to take us back home after our evening dancing with the devil on a g string.
- Megan

Desires of Mary (Erotica)

I gave in to the desires of Mary, flowing in and out of her like water through skin. 

Welcome to the world of illusion and dream work, 

fantasies played out slow, steady, 

and healing our extremities in the colder climates. 

I cum and shout out time over eternity again, 
cold and hard melodies that pulse through my body,
quaking death and resurrection. 
Wanting your mouth on me so bad that I will open up for you and let you take control, 

totally and completely to watch me get wet and dripping.

I write juices,
in and out,
it just runs slowly,

 and the ink mixes all alike with my moans that shake the rafters of this fair assembly. 

 I already orgasm hard even before you suck me off. 

I’d love for you to be so turned on by my intense pleasure that you can’t help but touch yourself. 

I want so much to run my hands all over you that I don’t know how much longer I can wait. 

And you haven’t even fucked me yet. 

Mad hatter moshes... channeling of fallen angels

Ch. 30 The warfare starts in the jungle. The Mad Hatter Moshing This Out

            Hazardous roads ahead, my friends. We may be fiery but we will hurt everyone if we go on like this. I can handle my own but all this other dissonance and melancholy has no place here in between weeping and an itch. My god, we are maniacs to let flawless fancy get in between blood that seems to be just about the thickness of a tear that drops down my head every night, scoffing at the jabberwocky. When the smoke clears, and you are not around, I myself will not say that I am that surprised. Heads will roll for this one.

            Hear me out, marriage and Figaro- I gave up on innocence a long time ago, we all do the hunting and shoveling alone sometimes. Ignition raised in me like a fortune teller on her cigarette break, she sees the forest running from the machine lioness, furrow down inside the marsh lands and I will give you a story to tell later. Mosh it out on the table of the mad hatter, I don’t know- I could give us better scary visions and entertainment than this circle ring of foul shadows. I resurrect the traditional rules followed by the hierophant and his means to which enlightenment was not far away.

            Alice can slay the jabberwocky as he has done before. He will come back to wonderland as he is always meant to, the mad hatter thinks so and that this time will be no different. There are more players than were expected. We all were there, watching this torrent affair, this twisted energy formed tides of violence and anarchy. 

I shall rush to thump in the rain, make the noise for the fallen angels and the death of the innocent. I will reek mind riots and raves of any kind, vampires awake to the sound of my voice in the dark and we shall all dance together, ride this Theos apocalypse rain wave together. One and all must be invited and singled out for bravery or dimension of any kind, so many enemies and haunted dreams to fight.

            I was sloppy and lousy with ideas, costumes and profanities made and assigned, personalities switched and catered, swapped and performed in days when nothing was certain and everyone came with passions to speak and yell out. Cursing the night sky and running wild may help some and may not help others, that is up to you. 

Hot heat thunders down on an unexpecting audience, soothsayers and the nightingale call out for the reckoning that is to come, wrath and thieves are to hitchhike to their separate castles and vanities must be forgotten. It is time to get messy and speak out the truth in lords of reign and rains after. 

I can create the de-program, the think tank switch is turned on and the eyes open, even in your sleep. Experience the otherness out in the decibel clapping of hands. Take a sip and pass it on in the presence of our new traitors, the disguise good but still noticeable in dark lighting.

            I ask you to sweat out the summer with me, measuring my lengths and further-ness from the meltdown and my close proximity to the universe suffering: depths of incense and breath of the archetype-angels, I dive in as always into the whirlwind and catch my breath, soothe a touching monster, bite a favor and a lover. 

Straighten my wings, if you are able, I have beaten the recipes of salvation avalanche during midterms, in between meals, and late nights of astral travel. I channel my meaning, kind sir, and the blood spilt is only mine. I don’t know where all this comes from, meat hook or not, I spill with effects and afters. 

My challenge is to write it out regardless of needs and wants of others: have and have nots, forget-me-not flowers my mom plants in the summer. I tempted my last feature film a long time ago; I can’t hear you now. Your voice grows softer and faints in my ear.

            I was awakened early, I feel, and this time I am angry at all the confusion and denial. I appeal to the highest serial number, please leave me be for a moment’s notice and I will explain to you the lack I feel, the muses are heavy in closer circles.

 I give up the length of my death again to stay and fornicate you free. Perform even, to the best of my degree and the few experiences I share with you my art, my others and Adam’s ribs, Princes of far off isles in the north, Persian rugs left behind and forgotten in the attic. I keep your mirrors sacred in my body, unique persons brightly shine- as you do.

- Megan

Violence Reconciled.

 I wanted a white wedding, I guess when I was in middle school. A lot has changed since then. I wanted my dad to walk me down the aisle and my grandfather to do the ceremony. I don’t know (with the liberal differences and the death of my father) if either of these are going to work out.

 I have lost everything dear to me in a spiritual or religious sense. I lost you more than anything and you could never tell someone else this loss. There aren’t words to accept a death that was not meant, was too early, and never enough.

            I just need you here, without you I am almost sane but not far enough, big enough, old or wise enough to learn yet. I suppose, I would be dealing with your death in a matter of fact way but then the tires on both sides of the car went flat and I lined the pathways of the forests I wrote in when I was a kid.

 The having to stare down the day is the troubling thing about all of this. Was there a whisper of you around that could lead me in a direction, a tunnel to fall through- to know for once that I am doing the right things, I am doing the best I can.

            Steal the light and experience from me, I gave you nothing and everything and it wasn’t right, I guess. You never seemed happy and I need to go home, sink in to what I don’t know- cry out a moment and figure out the tears that descend down my wrists. Hold on, wait for me in patient silent fashion, if possible. I have my own demons that I have to yet wrestle again and again with the angel just standing around and staring.

            I can only muster to save myself, devil take me down again. I will want to save you when you fall down every time though I will not always be able to be there. I can’t see for stammering at the grievances that raise up and faint fuck out. Let me freely discover again the beauty in a night, up at all hours, writing and silent twitching. A fall can be heard from any miles away you please, my body resonating with the heavens. 

            I escape the hangman just barely again. The trees want to burn now, the forecast and intuition were cloudy but you still get a sunburn kind of weather. Whether I was up for it or not, I will fight my own bones in the backyard of the raven that screeched and came round for another beer and left the porch in good health, I swear on my life and yours if you found room in there to care.

            I will drink to your good health and your sex change if that is the direction you are going, I just love you without the doubts of devil’s cards and naming things like raincoats when I could slip between the raindrops just fine myself. I need your undying lust, at least,

 keeping a space for me when I came out of the coffin and I woke up bright and shady, inspiring a love song by the lone ranger, the hitchhiker from east to west drops his suitcase, neat pants and a tie become boxers and a tie, girls in skirts offering up some semblance of cold living and the people in between.

            I need former selves’ strengths and old healings from darker times than these to proceed into this unknown bliss or I will meet you in hell, for a brief stay and then away up to the molten earth to rekindle a spark in something. Angels in their socks, slip on the wooden floors in their hallways and answer the phone when the baby is miscarried. 

I will hold you as you cry over what you thought was a calling, now to live under the sand. We lose and are found left behind even in the most undressed of times. There is blood on the carpet, unerased with time. There are sounds of water and coughing, dead men talking in their low rumble pitches. I see between the curtains, each veil naked and unraveled in front of me.

            I just spat out at you that I was too queer to get you to hush you rambling fucking mouth cause I knew somewhere deep down that you just wanted my thighs brushing your lips for a quick moment and then to move on and tell your friends you had fucked someone strange once, but we shall carry on, each with her and his own personalities that come out on stranger occasions than this one. I felt pathways widen and surround us like stained glass, bars outside all the windows, burn the church down whilst people are still in it- sin beyond all repugnance. A place of sanctity, I come to your heights and stories for sanctuary- not for a fire under my feet with my imaginary kids and my dying family altogether. 

I hate always cleaning up your sick and forced fake mess, at least feel the tinge of uncertainty and we all desire to hide our faces sometimes. Mark the walls with your disgrace and we shall entertain you, for a moment when the lights dim and you forget all of your worries. I whore out the repentance like a blunt sword. For a time, my life felt like gravel alleys and sex streeters set up for a fall every time.

            Sexual assault is hard to get over so fill the streets with walking weeping women but the femme fatals in bad romance with the sinister's underbelly are still being fucked when they don’t want to be. Help is on the way, my darlings- I remember daily and will not forget you. That feeling that life is short, no one knows what the hell they are doing- Alice describes to you again a bitter tasting circumstances, all I know was the fan was going round and round. I forgot the rest, to be sure.

            I say again to the light fixtures, I will forget you and what I have seen- God please, help me to forgive him just for a moment. I swear to let the world shift around me and surrender again to callings- even though I have been wrong. Some people are not to be changed, they stay as they ever were. Get out of there, if you can. 

I almost didn’t make it out of that mess so I understand the courage, the ugly sides of people and you blame yourself. Repeating in my head, I made him a monster but I can tame him again, right? Nope. The true human being once brought out, is virtually impossible to put back in it’s shell. Don’t try and save him, just run like hell, down the clean carpet stairs out into the street screaming. 

            Vertigo kept me falling down, weird angles of my house and places I’d never noticed before. Reality is relative (at least) once vertigo catches its breath with you. I understand there are consequences, different is hard in any form. But this is just right for me. I write in a passion that at least I get at the time... I think. 

I forever need to write what has happened to me, what I’ve seen and the works in place and behind and ahead. The whole fucking world is connected. I see that. The chaos that continues on until explosion and renewal, I am embodied chaos I swear sometimes. The world around me is scary at shit.

            Maybe I will just seclude myself in a closet somewhere  forever and just try to avoid some crashes. Slow down and give in though to a little fun, chill it out and make some noise. I want to relax and do whatevers going on in my mind. No more systems and sacrifice, please, makes me so tired. I am miserable with all the confounding points and pains. Need a change, a snapshot of something new to hold on to or we shall go down the drain with the razor lather and blood like the rest, sometimes.

            Maze howls as we go through her twisted and narrow leaves: entrances and exits and whispers in so many languages gave me a headache and I had to sit down, take a nap for Christ’s sake. I will not tell anyone. We shall swap divinities if the self-righteous are still wanting something a bit more.

            Epic sex and death, we drive on waiting for a sign from the house of the beast, I guess until we start to action. We are waiting too long to act. We get it now or you don’t get it at all. Move on and profane with someone else. I’ve only got so many hours on this earth, I can’t be spending my time waiting for you to catch up. The earth is moving faster now and I am gonna keep up as I can. You spin on the universe, then it concerns you too, my friends. You and I give up, shed our skins and start over.

            We shake out our machine knowledge, shut that out, dance steal ash off on a moment of reconciliation. Rise up from the electrical age, shudder the electric and keep strong in the mud of generations to come. Lead on with voices of ethics and we are our own swamp, float and soak it through and move it off. 

Blaze it up and again live the memories of our human versatility. If you are lucky you will be on a hit list from the government, if you are doing something right. Get out of that science speak, the kings and queens of harlem beckon us home and I take on their charge ahead, writing that fiend out the way. Making movement towards something new in the mind fuck chaos.

            The rules were really inevitable in the game that is the same every time. Take on a new story cause this is getting old like the hell hounds of greek ancestory. I could stand for a bit more poise and furniture than that to dance on top of. Hell, I grew up with seeing eye ghosts on both sides of my bed in the morning. I dare you to work harder than that to fix me in the middle of the ring, I bend easily out of most situations.

            Rusty guillotines were broken with the thunder of rage that I brought with me, my angels and descendents. The nearer we come to the grave the heavier I feel and know that  greed and time are against us. All together we look upwards toward a bluer sky and find salvation somewhere on this garden lamppost of a world. I walked my way quickly through the garden to lead you there, a soft touch and a tender composition of expression.

            I am never standing long. I am back to where I started, indeed and as always. Did you lose a father anything like mine? Love is hard to find in any closeted space so I am thankful, but now I sit alone. I smoke a cigar in your honor and writing in remembrance and not forgetting. Raise a glass, my customers, and forget the transparent abyss. Come in rational and non-linear tempests and we shall dine together again. 

Fuck Out: Posted for Adults Only

It was the purpose of being that I am not sure of, now at least, maybe until coming of new trials and ideas that mankind is just holes in the ground, shedding former selves, baking in ovens of plaster- fresh mint in gardens, tears and kisses- tars and misses fucking in bathroom stalls with “one of the band.”

Lipstick in one pocket and ten dollars in the other, she will tell this story later, He was gender confused and so was she drunk off whiskey sours, I don’t know what he was on- she didn’t ask. I can only telll you- what she told me. He was from Chicago- tight punk ass with eyeliner and he brought his guitar with him. It stood on the doorframe and could tell you more than what I heard. Good luck getting a word, a loyal beast are guitars and strings. He kept his mouth shut (and rightly so).

This boy slid his hand up her skirt, running his fingers over her thighs and she shook, slightly, and came just a little from being drunk and adrenaline pumping from grinding already. Bars and lush aside, they stop a moment. Her back on the door, his one hand pressed against the door next to her head, the other round the small of her back, pulsing close to eachother, blood pumping from vein to vein like a railroad station in chaos.

He thumps into her and she is already to go. Fresh and sweaty, they are alone (besides the guitar who may get dripped on). She willingly pulls down her tights and keeps her high heals on, not worried on ceremony.

Fucks later would be slower and more desperate. She will make you wait and then give it to you slow and hard until you pant and beg again into the night. Tonight, was pants unzipped, underwear slipped off and put in his back pocket of his pants.

She is wet and he is hard and both are ready to escape the world even for a moment. He sinks into her and she moans with pleasure that cannot be heard over the beats from outside this bathroom stall, quite a nice and clean one at that. She starts to drip and it travels down her legs and his cock.

He thrusts into her slow and hard as of yet, pulling in and out of her like a carnivale animal, wantings had turned to need in the months before. She cums once as he is sensitive and throbbing inside her, steady and holding in the urge to cum himself. She does in fact drip a bit on the guitar case, he doesn’t mind and neither does the guitar.

He starts to kiss her hard, down from lips to neck and her nipples become very hard as he bites and sucks them. She it moving more and more now, back to that door that’s shaking the whole bathroom, he slips his dick in and out of her all the way and then becomes so hard he can’t help but watch himself fuck her hard and deep, getting faster and faster. This girl is tight and he works to keep her hot and opening up even more.

Now, he is finding it easy to fuck her- he feels the cum pulling up his cock, and his pre cum is felt inside her, and she cums even harder to feel how quickly he starts once they are inside each other.

            Then they hold on to one another as they both cum hard together. Grabbing the door frame she shakes and he falls on top of her. She keeps him standing holding him and then putting him on his knees. “If you suck me off, I cam ejaculate long and harder than you- I can assure you. If you want it, you can go for it,” she says.

           

He starts to lick and suck her clit and she moans into his face. There is so much build up from a night like this that she can hardly stand. He holds her up now, and she stiffens and groans even louder now. “Fuck,” is all she can stammer out.

Her body can’t help but rock back and forth, grabbing his hair and pushing him in closer to her. Rushing and hot sweat and sweet cum squirts out just as he pulls away. She is exhausted and he sits down on the floor. Both fix their outfits and get them selves re-adjusted, and let’s meet here again sometime?

Paint Me Devil

I felt wrecked and no land in version vision, that I could see. I could not save you, stop you, dress and impress you with fanfare or erotica. I gave the carnivale up to someone else, too much to ask and demand. Nevermind the mess ups, the past and future. Life isn’t stretching out before all of us- be glad to live at all. Staring in rooms with spirals floating,

 I listened to the hit-list spoken out in tongues of serpent mirth, old languages that most didn’t even remember. Ancient civilizations wrapped around a great sphere of knowledge, such as ours but higher in the atmosphere, the planes become in-material and so do materials. Leave behind the feature pictures and the feathers, just bellowing out of sound and sight. No fear- this is the animal to watch for, tear the eyelids out your eyes before asking you what you can learn from this, if you can learn from this. Whatever, move on.

            You got to goddamn stand up for yourself. Don’t let this manhole let you down over and over, only bloody wrangled writhing talk. No action. Monsters can stay in their fucking closets, for just a moment while you calm down and figure out the next move before dawn reels down on us again, the future was not preset. I will not wallow, sink into desperate mountains of shame and pity.

 I will write and challenge you death and suicide snipers, carvers out of some manifesto in the sky that’s got nothing to do with me. Throw down those rains and fierce sensations of the lame and dying: I will not wake up screaming. I will stand up and stay awake. Given in to the raven apprenticeship, I depart flying and forgiving.

            I stepped sideways into the alleys of the damned, fog drowning and stammers in the dark and dank. Pieces torn off like a bone to a dog. I saw you marked figures on all the doors of the entrance to the angels’ atlas. Let’s us keep up the loudless hauntings howls to the hierophant. We will be heard through sobbings and tortures of the mind that I know most but not all of the story. 

I was glossed with glitter and sandpaper, harnessed to the falcon that drives them on without the sound of our warnings. You dare not speak and realize that you are alone. This is a terrifying thing but grace came with the surrender to the otherness that we all are in each other, I suppose.

            Paint me devil, I can see it all and still bounce back inside the tent, the river running over us in the depths of the ice inferno. I was from the North, I can withstand in the bit torrent frostbite. Sucked through a coward, I find myself on the other divide of the natural world,

 ripping around through bodies and saving what I can of the innocence that was once there in you, stay bright and beautiful despite the sins ya see around you. Bastards that are the ninth gate, snag and slip through keyholes of the underworld easier than I without irreverent magic that forked my tongue too much.

            We shall ignite the hosts, this lady jesus is not going under into the stryofoam liquor dependent costs, fairs too expensive for me. Foster the care of another was digging deep but the inside brighter and the chaos swifter than the rains of Nashville, poor souls laying on the earth, watering the neighbors of deep fertile ground. Death played over my head a lot in the tides such as these.

            In the theatre of distraction, I lifted the angel to requiem- ghost in the spaces between the bricks and the alley floor. I reminiscent of the shades and beckonings of earlier years, months past for future reference helpful when the fires spark imagination and therapy. 

Restless and tired I kept to the feelings of instinct, discovery of tame and vengeful pathways to the mountain even before you started to climb up to look down on the rest of us just trying to make it fucking by, just barely. Untangle me and tie me back together, I suppose if you can- even if I am able anymore.

            further down this assembly line, I climb up to the electrical tower of dissonance and pathology. I can’t be hideous and venom it spat out to everyone around, I will shake that circus and lighting off me. Give me strength, get me a light and a swamp lanterns erect and I shall descend with you

 into the funk and drop gorgeous and gorgon-like. Medusa will laugh at the end of the day, no worries. I will not be stone in any form or other, watchtower in the night sky is lit up glitter and sunshine and moon leaves to go for a smoke and a shag.

            Mosh pit up the staircase to watch the chandelier fall, along with the guillotine and its saints surveying the disaster scene, deciding whether or not the life lost was worth bringing in help or support. Sincerity was for the faint of heart but necessary when the game came down to death and serious shit was going down. It was briefcase of identities that was burned at the beginning of the year

 and now I am no idea where I am anyone. Strangers give me hesitance for replication and divination. I divined out of you circles and speeds of light, former selves and incandescence. Fit me awake and notice that I can only be me, even if I am in disguise: trumpet ears, wings from another mother, griffin like sight and grief, chess playing was exploding my mind, tearing me to shreds. So many options and daily specials, I ended up just crying and going home, rocking back and forth in my carpet with the dirty floored dance steps and curves of my hips, round and round, twisting to dawn and daylight. 

            Wasteland and archery, I gave heathen pleasure a sense of purpose and approval. Profane me wrong about you, give in and let’s see how far we can do. make it out to step on the moon, I dare you. Open up your virtue and innocence and give me a taste. Keep with me now, steady as she wanders. 

Nectar.

Veiled from the rear window,

I sucked out the horrorshow of the master and the slave.

Were you miscarried by divinity,

careful- she heads to witness the tired angels
that are awake only

when you are ready to go to bed,

they stay up to guard you from the truly awesome

grisly houses that await us

in the nether life.

Every ether in the cosmos consumed,

the shelf hung up for the afternoon,

keep your distance from me,

a nights worth of peroxide and rat poison,

trees gossip that the queen-ship is over,

carriages dismantled and eaten by wolves.

Blood light given through nectar, woven cross time

identity transubstantiates the services that the government can profound

out of us, slide shows and coffins to dine in,

 without place or purchase.

Spotlight it out of me,

synchronize the levels of insanity-

the lengths one is too ready to leave forsaken
and we craved to surrender arms,

it will at least be a show for you to witness

and discuss with your head later.

Inertia can be bargained avec,

lust was a stranger to no one that I had met

thus far in my trips to circumstance.

Chaos still raining, I kept to the fifth amendment,

coursing through canyons on the underbelly of the earth,

lizard crawling on its stomach.

It came from a place of orphans and mistletoe,

a lone child sit in the stands

coughing up blood like a man of ninety-eight.

Quoi?

I entered the roped-off event,

naked and promising to be wet by the end of the evening.

Myths come true in the shade we are under,

in ends of times paraphernalia.

We suffer the loss of habit,

but I give up under pressure and succumb to the

wantings of a strange world, exotic and peripheral. 

The Vampire Trials: Sex Magic and Deliverance

The Vamp Trials: An exercise of making love the moving the body

Closing my eyes, I will explain sex to my forefathers and a learned paranormal phobia that I have taught to masters of both math and music through the ages. Red lines angry to pump the blood out of your heart-beat to the base of your spine, the opening to which all is invested (among them, other fragments of my former self and teeth set to the chorus of Madonna and Magistrate).

I suck on the heads of state, the radiator beckons me further into the underworld which I always accept with a shy grin and a quiet glance backward, staring you straight in the mouth. Home prophetic, I walked into strobe light and fever. don’t follow me unless you can stand straight up in a room of drowning seraphim and the lust-making lucky dogs that we are.

Slowly relapsing into antiquity, the rules migrate due to the time change and that man still stands at the bar- sweeping the energy field with his eyes across that checkerboard dance and landing strip, I am unrested and headless to the supernaturals to come.

Sweat flashes through my seizing brain- liquor and suspension. I bring the irreverent night into being, relapse light for a second hand and call to me for a journey through your nervous system whenever you have the time.

Driving me on, I touch that gentle spot at the back of your neck. Tempt me again to feel myself inside you, lifting up the desert storm sensation that thumps with the masks and demons in the dark. I follow the crowd to pleasure and sit in the back rooms of this hallowed out ground of performativity and profound expansion of the mind, legs spread open and we move to the beat that was brought to us by the renaissance makers and lover takers in the agility that has been forgotton by the machine nation-states and their lovely virgin daughters, not for long and as ever.

I, hunted and alone, gave in to a thrashing about the waist and I will allow three questions each from the dark crowd of unison voices in lower octaves than my senses could hear with ears of a delicate human balance and mind fucking from across the room. A lesson learned for all of us with the time bearers and the funeral homes taking the day off. I might suggest a healing time as well if the right moment comes through with the moon in line with the pot smokers’ legal rights as of yet undefined by surplus and demand.

There was no legislation to conform to in the valley of hypertension and mass shadings of the rhetorical cheapening of my fragrances. I was on the stand for another droll entertainment series on vampires and their effects on modern social protocols. I ask you, the harm in recognizing that I can stiffen the appetite- switch the directional flows of blood like lava on a planet that is not quite like ours. I meant to keep the sex magic sacred and not understood. Talent had its own perceptions and demands for cash and credit.

A heavy enemy was depth perception, reality fit into a glass jar that I caught fireflies in when I was a kid in the cold-blooded nation. I smelled damnation like rains coming up from the everglades.

Stay all night and lick it out of me, my story of hissing and apothecary resistance to the pills that close my mind to higher sex symbols and fornication. Breaking rules like ice cubes out of a faucet, I imagine your legs wrapped around me- twisting figures and fingers. I came to an understanding, dripping vessels that sail away when the morning surrenders to the vampire qualities of torrent nightfall.

I will leave when I am damn ready and have had my fill of the movements of conversation and the strippers on their time off, flickering, their eyes wish me to take them home at night and settle their battles over the naked bodies that wrap in and around the sheets that never lay between us. Only flesh to be felt and lived in, experimenting with silence and language of bodies giving up to heightened pleasures and senses not yet used in this generation.

Listen to the breath of a new age, a living creature to take over and we shall play again in the dank and the unknown. A new meeting place, fresh and molded bodies together- reliving past exploits and reading erotica out loud, touching myself without crime or fearful mockingbirds singing to the procession of the living to the basement where new monoliths are made and taken for granted.

Meet me here again sometime if your desire finds you in need of something more than you expected, fresh breath from your head to your toes that are weak from strong orgasms all night long. Lucky for you, I am nothing like a lady and will beg you to stay the summer, hot nights and cold sweating bats fly over the rafters of my ecstasy. I dare you to linger with mouth and falling freestyle to the edge of the world.