I had a dream

Trembling alone,
I awake.
With a rush
you enter through me.
It was tug of war
with the monster,
crows flying low
in the daytime.
You looked up and to the left,
tilting your head slightly,
kind of reminded me of
what Oscar Wilde might've done
when trying to think
of the right word
whilst holding a brandy.

Dive in,
listen to the heartbeat,
reminds me of the house
we lost in the winter
of my early adolescence.
Now she
holds her head in her hands,
Pregnant scares
and Captain Morgan.
She prayed to a tornado sky:
God, I'm not ready.
He didn't answer.

Late nights dripping in
the moon,
we surrender
to the four walls
and the blacklight stage.
I entertain you.
You will miss it,
when the shadows come.

Nightmares wake us up,
we reach out in
the darkness
and find we are alone.
And yet,
I recall the soft touch,
the whisper,
the breath
heavy on my face.

Sad Eyes

Sad eyes one evening
lead to nine sleeping pills
which she took throughout the night,
each taking her to a new layer of Dante's hell.
Her favorite setting
was to run amongst the suicide trees,
blood drips from the young birch
and the re-birth
of the hierarchy of sins
is etched into the stone
of the collective conscious,
the vultures circle,
the martyr hangs.

Mad dogs reign,
the earth implodes under the pressure
of the storm a-coming
in the corners of the world in which
there is only darkess,
perpetual twilight.
Let them suffer,
the magistrate pronounces
over the loud speaker
and goes back to his
flask of bourbon
which he tells his wife
is just water and lemon juice.

Everyone is lying to you.
Wave your flag,
drink your poison,
thrust the knife in deeper inside of me,
twist it around
and make me wait.
I smirk and let you
take my life,
smile the Cheshire grin.

Give me energy
that sticks in my throat,
violence seen through
the needle's eye.
I will only ask you once.
Are you there?


Mister Blackbird,
believing he's a Phoenix,
performs Hari-Kari
in the shadow
that the moon makes on the earth.
I dance in his ashes
with my voodoo dolls
and lack of morality
as formally declared by The State.

War crimes,
suicide hotlines,
C.S. Lewis prays
to a fatherless God
and his friends
pretend not to notice.

The "Mary Me" mythos
takes another life and
I wake up in a bathtub
holding an empty bottle of
Russian vodka-
a pyramid tatooed to my forehead
and without a fucking clue
as to how I got there.

Voice Lessons

Midnight in the morgue,
awaiting Lazurus to rise again,
I spent the night in
a southern coma,
slurping tequila and
waiting for the devil
to show,
he does,
just 45 minutes late,
and that pisses me off.

The barn starts to throb,
pulsing vibrations
send the energy through the spine,
let the rythmn
be your religion.
Reconcile the demons,
stomp your feet
and feel the Earth move
through you.

We are chained
to the machine,
our fists turning bloody,
our tears still slave to
the demands of the government.

Prisons filling up,
no evidence,
no rights read,
and yet we are still happy hypnotized humanity
under the capitalist Big Top.
We are killing our collective consciousness
without even knowing it,
only ruin will come in the morning.

I weep daily now,
truth spat out,
mixed with tar and gasoline,
but dancing is better,
barefoot on the
white carpet,
sizzle with the heat
of the moment that is passing by.
I try to regret nothing
and yet live haunted-
Ann Boleyn
headed to the slaughter.