The Truth about Mary

War times and magic,
the albatross suffers
from the working will
of a wanting world.

Dance me out of your spirit,
if you can honey,
with the rythmn moving
you ever closer though
to my open stomach.

Gothic aphrodisiacs,
blue amphetamines
with the red stripe
down the middle,
hot lesbians on the subway,
tearful goodbyes in airports,
dial 9 to phone a number outside
this hospital room,
tortured minds stumbling down alleyways, and
still many nations bleed
on the cement of our
white collared bellies.

Swear words in German
like fuck and cunt etched
into the wall of the bathroom stall
I sat in for three hours
while he decided whether to take
me prisoner as his hanged man:
crypts of dead pharisees
and godly hallucinations.

Creep through you,
slither in and out,
vertigo prophecy
and cheap liquor.
Goddamn you,
send me a white lie sign
because the Devil in me
is taking over,
and you like that,
don't you?

Anarchy and sex drives
just make me want to hide
in my closet sometimes,
close the door and breathe
so very heavily in the dark,
which I do offen
when you upset me.

Hide and seek,
theatre erections and perfume
that reminds me of winter and cum.

Wet bodies,
a tattoo of Ishtar,
the goddess of war and sex,
on the back of your neck:
fucking in the bed of a pick-up truck,
in the grass behind your house,
on the concrete in your driveway,
even when I didn't want it,
you never heard me anyway
so I just shut up after awhile.

True in my memory,
as if time wore suspenders
and spoke with a cockney accent,
though in my experience she keeps
her mouth shut to spare you of her pain,
a deep red trench of grief and impotence,
and this I understand,
because her eyes give away
many of her secrets.

She was raped in that small red room
as a trumpet
sat on it's stand
and the ceiling fan whined about the view.

And yet,
she crawled out of the void
and re-entered the earth's atmosphere,
awakened magic through volcanic rebirth,
as I suppose her father had instructed her to do,
before he died
and was under the ground
somewhere in Michigan.

Harvest Moon and Lipstick

One miserable miscarriage later,
two spirits
dance in the flames
inside one body,
reflecting light
on an empty stage,
fedora askew I stand in stockings and lipstick.
I miss you,
in the waves
of dark that flow
over and in
and through me.
I see burning painted men
on the metaphysical plane,
angels and women too,
the plague is

Singing in my room,
swaying those two spirits again
up to the ceiling.
My mantra repeats:
on my terms
I will be passionate,
and forgive
in abundance.
You are young yet
and will not understand,
sweet monster
of the north-
drink your whiskey,
sip on wine.

Make me believe -
through the lies
and the humanity,
holy crossed staves,
Helen in the mirror,
she pays the rent,
and even has the heart
to sex you
though you don't deserve her.

But we were just friends
at a carnivale,
I caught your eye,
you stuck me on your wall to remember,
and I kinda liked it,
I confess,
and I'll write your heart out,
I don't mind.
Mais, c'est triste pour moi
regarder tout seul.

Muse Alice

Underneath the 12 glossy-eyed masks
of Judas,
I found out you were only
with an Irish whiskey chaser.
So I tried to forget
and instead fell on my ass,
somewhere between
a tremoring hangover
and a trembling dance floor,
grinding ya right,
lifting you up towards
the sky.

So wet,
dig deep,
find me out
until I shift again,
and you won't
remember my name,
I will make sure of that,
serpent skin,
howl me back,
let me go,
thrust into me until you get off,
then I'll leave you,
quicksand and in the night.

Lingering fingertips,
kundalini magic rising,
I wake you up,
you shutter with pleasure,
again and again,
I see fire and ice-
red and blue vibrate,
unite together,
inside of you,
inside of me.
Move with the current,
energy electric,
some sacred sexual
funnels through me
into you,
jolting your mind open,
light shines
between us in the dark.
Angels awaken to the sound
with Cheshire grins,
and the moon gets pleasure
from the sight of it all.

Twisting Twin Flames

I gave up my warm body
to you,
for the night,
howl to the moon
and back,
you gave me only
a fucking excuse
and the rhetoric of lying
that ate through my skin,
wanting to weep as I lay there,
expecting nothing
and thus receiving it.
Did you think twisting flames
together was going to be an easy game?
Even your brain curcuits
are stumbling around
in the dark,
looking for the answer I want to hear.

Too queer,
too fat,
too ugly,
too male,
too female,
too sexual,
too sinful,
too tempting,
and too crazy.

The same words rearranged
to imply a lack that's always mine,
and inside where I squirm from the truth:
I don't give a rat's fucking teeth about it,
I bleed with or without you.
The mad house
scores his whores
either way,
typical goddamn mammal-
bail when it's complicated,
rusty nails,
python-lined shroom trips,
sleazy liquor and jail time.

Dancing in the Heat

Step out of the bar
at 5 in the morning
when she closes her
heavy thighs for the night.
You light a cigarette,
the match winks at the lamppost-
The men that always
seem to linger a bit too long
and stare a bit too heavy
talking loudly about your ass
as you stand there
and look at your shoes.

Pretending to not notice,
sneaker to snow,
sneaker to snow,
take the flask out of your
left breast pocket,
heave the liquor
toward your lips,
honey down your throat,
straight to hips,
and a rush of pleasure.

Morning cums forever,
spilling color across
the sky,
leaving stains on the moon
as she sets and
surrenders with heavy breathing.

The Soul grieving
its losses of virginity,
a child cries on
the corner of Madison
and a war zone,
torrents of timber
and concepts of masculinity
leak out of skyscrapers
at dawn,
jacked on coffee,
whack off in the shower
as she rises.

Earthquake dreams
and ecstasy,
drowning euphoria,
sucking dick
in the dark
on a dirty floor,
apartment complexes and
consensual lust
turns to tears and coughing up blood,
in the back seat of your car,
hounds of hell and love turned up on the radio.

The eye of the storm smirks
but says nothing,
the mourners gather
for yet another
funeral march for the goat
in heals and heat,
lipstick and circus,
in the middle of the day,
with handcuffs,
and the moans heard
through the tile and asbestos,
sirens and rocks,
denial of instinct and intuition,
sex and coffee
that you refuse to drink
even when offered
with eggs and bacon.

Slow it down,
vibrate through pleasure,
the tiger takes a bite
of your neck
and then invites you
to the shadows' masquerade,
all dripping
in water and moonlight.

Organic Cries and Records

In the dark,
I turned into the Harlequin Queen,
all animal rhythmn and intuition
funneled through
the sex hungry teeth
that kept me awake
early in the morning,
moon- caressed
sky beckons
me nearer.

Twilight begs forgiveness
no fault has
crossed her lips,
she'd rather take your wrath
and then lie to you
about the pain you cause.

In those midnight dreams,
heroin addicts
and their dead babies,
storms and grapefruit,
shaved heads and porn films,
green faeries
and bad business deals with
foreign powers
and the demons of machinery.

The mystics and their
mandrake potions,
kneeling at crosses,
healing STDs with lizard skin
and balsalmic salves
made in cauldrons in the
forests of eastern Europe
by the witchdoctors
from further north.

I hitchhiked through
the metaphysical plane.
There are burns
on your skin,
which you try to hide
when you're on a first date;
we carry our luggage with us.

The sages in the ground,
gypsies stepping
through the fire,
making you cum hard,
fight the patriarchy,
forget the meds
that are killing brain cells
along with
the liquor and cigarettes
you paid for
last week when you
felt ugly,
chained angels
still drinking the profit
steel hammer comes down
on the heads of the masses.
We barely escape,
and fuck in the shower
the rest of the night.

Slave market and
the stock exchange both
speak the same beast language,
bats cry in
the darkness,
the spirits glow in the moonlight,
taking my feet off
the ground and through
your aching system.

Filling in the dark places
with light,
we rock to the heat
of the drum,
back and forth together,
sex and records,
organic riddles of the body
and soft touches.
Fire begets ice sometimes,
and thus we are burning bright,
the rhapsody of my pulsing body
soon to become clear to you.

Sex and Sorcery

I dreamt of sorcery.
You died in your sleep
while Mary Magdalene
feeds the mockingbirds outside her
window and cries herself
into dreaming,
red robin
tied to a lamppost.

Night sweat,
dancing out
the bass,
sex and public stonings.
I lean in,
change your history,
keep you going
to the rhythm,
slow and steady, honey-
I make you wait
cause Im good at that.

Create the difference
you crave to see,
live aloud and fuck it.
Give in
or make do,
teacups with coffee in them
and lace lingerie,
black with pink bows,
and those boots you like.
Let's lift each other up,
we delve further
into time,
deeper inside the ocean.

Honest sacrifice,
the hanged man
swings back and forth
and you laugh
until the key fits
into your locked door.
And there,
standing in your
narrow-minded hallway,
which you fucking built
all by yourself,
is the goat with a grin
and death,
snickering at your expense.

Traveling Circus

Lilith's vengeance
on my breath,
I storm through
your body,
awake chakras,
open up
the dark and light places,
now to enter the unknown.

Under the ground
of the circus
is where we begin.
The caterpillar responds
in smoke:
Who are you?

Cloudbursts frame the sky,
we are dying
and you are shaking
your fists,
yet still our bodies
crumble like the
sacred mockingbird and bee
in their cages,
collecting dust and anger.

You smother me,
I regain consciousness
and you stare,
waiting for a fucking
thank you,
Judas lies again.

I woke up,
felt a doll pulled by puppet strings,
and knew something
was wrong,
stirring in my stomach.
My head is spinning
from the visions
that haunt me
through the swamp,
and that desperate fog,
ice on my brain.
We continue,
up the mountain,
our paths
creating beauty
in a hazy world.