Desires of the Phoenix

September came with

a sting at the back

of the throat

and such a harsh longing,

deep,

vibrant,

kept me up tossing

till 5 in the fucking morning,

hungry for

the night’s sweet touch,

for she was the only one

that seemed unafraid

at the prospect of my

fire skin consuming her,

phoenix licking my wounds,

even though sometimes

she couldn’t find me

through the storms

I formed and

circled round my eerie head,

hiding me from view.

Slithering through

the open window,

you flitted over

my aching body,

I sigh to the

north and east,

patchwork paces,

haunting on a continuum,

re-tracing soft footsteps

of my childhood Michigan winters,

magic frosts flowing to the rivers,

through the trees

we gather together

our senses,

hot sex rhythms

thumping the

top of the skull

to the base of the spine,

echoes repeating out

vibrations from the vocal chords,

sounds that came

up through the belly

to the head and

bursting out the top

of the brain

in moans erotic,

top hats taken off,

roughly thrust

to the ground who indeed

got a rush

from the thought

of hands and

fleeting frenzy fingers

stretched out to the angels,

gasping in pleasure,

casting me out of my

sorrow bones

which kept me

looking downward at

my bloody toes

most evenings.

And then there was the Sphinx ,

ever watching,

woken up on a Thursday morning,

to feel a sandstorm

round her waist,

and she thought to herself:

the wind seemed angry as of late,

a tinge of tabasco on the tongue,

vinegar dripping down

the earlobes.

Frenchmen leaning

out their windows,

shouting down

to the ladies in the street,

they turned and

gave him the finger.

Seduction should’ve been

a sultry swing,

Thelonious Monk

on the phonograph,

candles oozing and winking

in the cool twilight,

tender lips run along curves,

breath slow but then building

to heavy orgasm sounds and electric quivers

that shook the rafters

of even the most sturdy houses.

But in these tempest times

we settled instead for harsh tire squeals

and a short siren thrill,

pick your poison,

chug it down,

slosh around,

fuck hard and rough

without a hint of passion or embrace,

slink out from under him

when he fell asleep

and squeeze through the floorboards

before he remembers

what he whispered

to me

in the undertow.

You were a unimpressive liar:

women faking stupid,

men faking apathy,

the joker was the only one

found laughing

at the weary games we play.

I watched

cigarettes stain teeth,

apothecaries abandoned

with a shudder

for to bend and contort

to the idols of pharmacy

and forensics.

Media mayhem ate us up,

spat us back out

as gnarled stick figured blond barbies,

to mouth agendas for

Halliburton and Disney,

tango with the demons

of industry,

then tossed aside into mass graves,

screeching for sanctuary.

Oh please,

break the veils of ego

honey,

it isn’t always

about self-promotion and

what you can get out of

every sinkhole situation,

vampires in their cages,

gnashing teeth together

in time with the organ pipes.

Poor dear,

I could tell

in less than

the time breath took

to sink into the lungs

that you still loved her,

a flash of thirst in the eyes

as she walked by

and didn’t even care to notice you.

I could always recognize

a face hiding heartbreak and

it tore at my insides

to see the pain

you hid

and thought only your nightmares

could see,

but no,

I wept for you

in my dreams as well,

kind stranger,

and hoped for healing

in the dawns to come.

Tis so strange and wild

the way heart valves betray us

and how we are really all the same,

wanting to hear our names

shouted out loud through street crowds

with love and craving,

and hands on my hips

in the early hours of the daytime.

The Witching Moon's Eye

The witching moon’s eye

opened inside my brain,

shivered in the cold,

dark,

breeze

that flit through my ears,

forging deep into my swollen head,

the eye blinked and shook the dust

off her glossy wings.

Now awake,

I cannot wriggle free

from the visions,

or escape the skulls

lining the sidewalks,

howling for their bodies

that no one seemed

to crave to find.

The golden locks girl

applies her make-up

in the taunting mirror,

paints her face on

to look like all the others

that are lifted up before her

as the examples to be acceptable pretty,

slips neatly into

size zero jeans,

still hating herself for

what she perceives as being fat.

Halter top beauty queens,

finding faults and flaws

in every looking glass

propped up in front of her

and behind,

because this sadistic torture society

wants to teach you

that you always lack,

you are never enough just to be you,

so you will buy more products

to fill the aching void,

as if material could ever quell the lonely.

Silly girl could never be worthy of love and light

until the souls been

sucked out by the consumer system:

plastic dead doll Barbie:

the epitome of the perfected teased tight woman,

strangled in the American dream-

a child’s toy that

will gladly and with great apology

for any inconvenience to the master,

fit itself into the plastic coffined box,

keep its mouth tapped shut,

staple holes where

the eyes of the goddess used to be.

I saw the women around me

chugging diet pills like breath mints,

washing them down with tequila shots,

no lunch or dinner thanks,

laughing at rape jokes

so as not to upset the status quo,

hissing venom at each other,

tearing other women down

to boost their glamour shots

and perceived righteous ratings

for the likes of the porno-minded men

who really just wanted

women who looked like little girls,

for us to beg to be bruised

and broken into tiny pieces

that could be hanged on the mantelpiece

of power lust, greed, and patriarchy.

Fuck the hell hounded media,

the scoffs at any fragment of individuality,

demonizing cures for anxiety and cancer,

heaven forbid a sense of self-worth,

idolizing violence,

rape and pillage tactics,

concrete aggressive erections,

faked orgasms to boost pathetic egos,

submissive whispers of women

so as to not disrupt male dominance.

Instead we must enact our luscious,

loud erotic beings,

tearing down the cannibal structures

of wall street,

screeching lusty odes

to awaken our

fellow artists and empaths,

gentle sisters and brothers alike,

marching hand entwined with hand,

to cast out our sick oppressors.

Our time is now,

to writhe open our throbbing pulses

and rise

ghosts from their walking graves,

vampires from their tainted mausoleums,

witches curving and swaying upward

from their burned ashes,

lovers and prophets

thrusting forward,

shouting,

demanding,

the fall of the

capital consumption empire.

Just breathe and know

that you are electric elegance

wrapped up in an angel,

you don’t need their chemical produce

and liquored fantasy bullshit.

You are loverly and exquisite

just as you are. 

Empire Crumble- Rise and Revolt

Taking tea

and precarious refreshments

in the man-made

soiled and sweating

sinkhole,

I squirm and

wriggled out

of the maliced mosh pits and

festering angry faces,

temper tantrums not being cute or helpful

with our own bloodied heads

being used as cement to build more

illness factories and stock market make-up schemes,

teetering towers for the grizzly heads of state.

Cemetery stones whispering

in humming harsh tones

about the rise of melancholy,

choked down,

gasping and gurgling slosh

with tasty teaspoons of

aspartame apathy.

Hierarchy demons propagating

counterfeited fornicating plastic masks,

fed forced and planted upon any

anarchy dandelion

who so much as dared to look

forward,

upward,

move in a direction

of equality and enlightenment.

We were cast out,

imprisoned,

scape goated,

cleverly whistle blown to

the depths of inferno layers

of the powerful fucked,

faked,

fantasy.

ha-

Im.

Not.

Buying.

Plastic credit

giving us selfish egoed fame,

dizzying delusional highs of

commercial catastrophe

and seeping drama addiction.

I spent my morning sick

to my bleeding stomach,

purging propaganda

and patronizing patriarchy,

giving then instead my

fierce and frightening

energies to revolt

in seas of pleasured nuances,

pure moaning breathing soft

on the neck ecstasy

with the simple act of awakening,

choosing to fight

psycho-pathetic doctrine,

a staggering wake up to

police state falsified forensics,

brutal tactics of paranoia

and serial brutality.

Gnashing our battered teeth

together in blazing brilliant protest

against sick greed and powerlust supremacy.

The time is ticking close

to the programed wires of the greenback filth machine,

thus the craving necessity to stand up,

no more bowed heads

in chemical injected reverence to the

sick hydra headed kings

with their sadistic twisted grins,

humiliation inflicted on the disenfranchised,

thus to aid the jacking off of suited men

in pristine golden armored bathrooms,

pentagrams and pentagons.

We shout loud and vicious,

screaming down walls thicker

than even Jericho could muster,

throwing down the privileged powerful

where they sleep and smirk at our

pain and agony.

Together we unshackle

our young and each other,

shaking the sleazy elite

from their frothing habits of

murder and cover-up covergirls,

rapes and muttering adrenaline fueled mass graves.

We turn our smiling roughed edged faces,

without fucking permission-

towards the sun,

into a new dawning age

of collective spirit and

freedom for all people.

Awake, we now must Rise.

Sex Mouth.

In the mirror,
did I mention,
I had a dream and you
were standing there,
in the reflection
beside me?
There are others
further back,
in the mist and memory,
that linger,
and are quickly taunting
my patience,
taking me down,
down to hell
with every early morning coffee.
I promise to try to forget,
and dance out the ugly.

Out,
you nightmares,
the fear and the anger
quickens my breath,
growing impatience at apathy,
it sickens me.
Look me in the face,
with brave and vulgar passion
and say what
you have to say,
goddamn it,
the preacher mounts his pedestal,
the king his throne,
the corporations and
their psychopathic tendencies,
appetites for cruel mind diseases,
whilst we the suffering,
the real people,
slave for their green tyrant dollar
that fits snuggly in the pocketbooks
of the dead cement golden calf machine,
who gets an erection from the grand sight.

However,
the hanged man suddenly
opens his eyes and
gives me a wink
with his skeleton beauty eyes.
He smirks a Cheshire's grin,
starts to beat the voodoo drum,
forgets his worries,
let's the pleasure pour over him.
Hands learn to feel free to wander,
the secrets you keep from me
start to be forgotten as my heat rises,
the rhythm of the night brings
us back to bodies closely intertwined,
panting in my ear,
God I love that.
Could I ever get enough
of that sex mouth lingering
next to my skin?
Not likely soon,
these are vampyre days
and nights of moans and moons
falling,
and laughter,
and fucking in long stockings,
and truths spilling onto
the carpet mixed with cum and venom.

You think this is just pretend?
Honey, this is just me
licking round the top of the
glass with my tongue,
havent even taken a sip yet.

My sex is deep I think
because I've wept so,
though I've explored the heavens also
and their depths are even greater.
The universe of sexuality
is vast and drives me deeper daily,
I strive to keep up,
even so,
it may consume me,
in the ethers.
I am ready.

Drinking in the Moonshine

            Ah monster, I’ve found you again: alive alice and hungry. I embodied all characters around me: pop pulp, culture through a looking glass circus, I watch the dances play before me with their twisted features, small and large colors over the rainbow, and then I take on their faces, manners and places. We can step into someone’s very veins and get lost in another person for awhile. I seethe back to life, awakened like a frozen stone Vulcan waiting once again for the fires that burned before him inside the mind seeking night skies with moons falling. I am not one to be eaten lightly. I will rise from this stretcher, this carnaged plane. I scan the dead and try to hold their last breaths in my hands. I hear you, in the dark, your cries for fear of the earth’s large enough mouth to swallow you.

            I opened my throat wide, wet from drinking in the moonshine and ran back into the forest for cover. The plagues are coming once again with oil as we drink, raping the shamans of our ages, genocide we watch and allow in countries of our brethren: each act of violence was leaving all of us to bleed, don’t you see that? I retch up the violence that sits outside of my very window, blood spills down the trees and sinks back into the earth. I am coughing up the venom that attacks the airwaves, the media living us a lie.

            The sisters shifted me into creation making love to the air around her, weaving in between the breezes, she dances to remember who she is when the sky turns to light again. the ghosts in the hallway like to knock on my door with an impatient hand. We know you’re in there. Mentioning the dead always causes a morose silence and shifting eyes, fingers reach for something to entangle themselves with. We must muse out among the crowd and make resounding voices. 

            Unplug the machinery attached to you with strings, doll’s house living must no longer get blood pumping and molding out into something pre-processed and manicured to glint in the light just right, ah yes the shine of capitalism.