Dream Wars

Birthing water pixies

in my tortured sleep,

I woke up

weary,

always,

tossing and turning

with the

womb pains

of a new age,

learning phoenix lessons,

rough and hazardous,

picking my poisons,

drinking your nectars,

over and under,

beyond and in between,

the lights of cities and cigarettes,

sheets spread wide and waking open

like legs,

gasping for divinity,

out on the slippery floors

in the flats of London town.

I was the heroine

to escape you

from the silence

that ate you,

gulped you down

like coffins and coffee

in the morning,

before anyone

was up,

even the sky,

and I just wanted

to be saved

from this harsh earth,

get me out

of here,

oh the pain,

I cant bare

it anymore,

my head tis so sore

from the sight.

Live Erotic

Hostaged dragon

writhing and coiled up inside

the fire-breathing lust

of a woman,

my hands trembled

with pleasure and fury,

hurricane gypsy with

her tangled tormented wings,

pinned to her sides with

bloody bobby pins,

weeping howls

from the one-eyed

moon which gave way to

sex sounds and

absinthe drenched fairies

winking in her wake.

Mmm in reality,

the fall felt fucking good,

to let go of the future

and give in,

a miserably sweet surrender.

I opened my lungs back up to your breath,

pulses pumping,

twisted moon ravished

me on the mountaintops of

your deepest dreams,

the ones

of course,

that you don’t even care to remember.

I craved you in

my sleep,

though I kept my mouth shut,

glint in my eye,

dripping tongues

left me hopelessly helpless

only till morning,

when you dawned on me again,

and I woke up radiating wrath and

dangerous spells I learned

at the beginning,

when magic was alive and waltzing through

our veins with a vengeance.

This was no time to be silent,

Im afraid,

that time has come and gone.

We act now or die.

Rise and reveal,

delve and direct

your senses to the earth and

all her secrets,

infinite orgasms and awakenings,

healing hands and metaphors,

take hold,

live unique, exotic, erotic.

Witch Myth

As I lit my own way

through the darkness,

the forest closing in,

trees speaking in tongues,

ancient tantric vowls,

whispers of vengeance

and loving passion,

so deep,

swept like wind

through the rain,

claiming her in the twilight,

legs apart,

cumming into

the sunrise,

lift her up,

and into that forgotten

space of shadows and spice.

But then

in a quick moment,

that went unnoticed by most,

there was a reality shift,

a quick change

in the dressing room of

my favorite transvestite.

Flashes and liquor

and smoking ashes,

mirrors sparkled

back and talked to us

of the future and

prophesized in the form of erotica.

Damn you,

I can clearly see your broken soul,

left to wander round and waltz

back and forth in your bones,

aching and sorrowful.

I just wanted to

warm your dark nights

with the blues

and tales of cathedral lightning,

soft caresses,

tenderness and

sleep walking,

fucking in the morning,

cold breezes through the window,

tears of joy.

Your absurdity

astounds me,

witch mything me to hell and

early graves.

no offense but

fuck you.
Drink your poison,

and I shall drink mine deary,

you weary and wrenching

in your small mind,

closed and only fading in the light,

then sweet and sour,

bitter tones to

pulsing ethers,

rising up into

the celestial sphere,

and laying my head

down to sleep,

rattlesnake requiems

lull me on

to the eternal illumination.

I shall be a phoenix soon

to burn and fuck and burst and die,

and then with heaving and great shaking

am reborn.

the mad hatter awoke from the same dream

The mad hatter awoke from the same dream again with a shake and a shouting to the rafters- eastern and northern dimensions unseen by most everyone. The fortune of the house of cards looks fragile to say the best, and she worried that the dream would come true- sooner than later. Beasts hide only for a time in the depths of the darkness before curiosity perfumed animal hostess- the wooded glen and moors of a time without capital and recompense. We shall be forced to unhinge together or to fall to the frail and the holy grail matters- a hat of a whole different kindred candle.

Given pills to swallow, hard and condescending, we write together in the pit- once only to look up at the sky and shine through the heaviness of the heavens. I choose my own earthen serendipity, luxury and fork tuning gave me the risen preconditioning to look the red queen in her one green eye and laugh.

Fireflies were instructed to lighten the mood and they surface to the top of my head and out of my third eye, leaving me room to grow, outstretched and forgetful. I killed a man in my sleep and the church held me: armory and chivalry so small that it can fit in the space between my fingers. The mission moon betrayed our chess game to the serpent harlequin who never smiles. Where am I in this space that breathes and only rests to heal the sickened children of the New Damned Dawn.

Eyes mourned the dark circles around them and crossed finders that dreams can play hide and seek long enough for me to drink once again with the monsters that mingle amongst us. The wonderland senses help my mind to make one more connection, one more vision, once more give and re-take in the midst of sirens and venom teeth that have driven me utterly mad with reason. Lightening was the patriarch head of unions and battlements closed down for construction. Listen to the fireworks deep underneath your insides.

There might have been a moment- a silence that slipped by- that I could’ve saved my beaten down brain. I missed it, a fantasy and all now is but a glimmer of pieces of skin sewn together by strokes of a cursed luck, a pinned down angel who doesn’t speak of the things she has seen in the coming ages to pass through the eye of a needle, standing on a clothespin.

I bled from the inside and was diagnosed as deserving such an apostle of gruesome Leviathan. Bare your tongue to my lips once more and there will be nothing left. Horror in an instant was meant to change me forever. The twinkle in my throat snuffed out by the lycan divergence from my closeted younger self.

I must cry without warning for the instincts I’ve seen that strike down the spirits of hallowed saints and servants to the undertaker. I whisper- to no one- my story, my groggy memory and steamy lessons forced to learn.

To be honest, my lovlies and lillipads- I beg to forget yet the script replies in my head to every nuanced step forward. I reconcile my anger through confused and drowning waters: nothing, as of now, is at all clear. So it is then that I join the mangled masses of the dishonest, on our knees we listen to the wind wrap around the crypts of the elite.

I have it not in me to tell the whole truth, as it all happened- even if I could remember all grit  and dank opinions- all harshness and dissonant screams that echo through the shallow hallways in which I trespass.

God, please don’t take off my clothes again, never asking or polite. Demands are high for the wanting and violation was always signed on the blank page of my memory. Never a glance to my eyes, never hearing my cries late at night once home again- take a shower to wash you out of me again with soap and festering. I forever unclean and not trusting: fucking you or anyone else in this profane world. I am full to the earlobes with acid eating away at my lifelines. I keep quiet, head down to the dirty carpet and try not to breathe too hard.

Maybe it isn’t a good idea to re-think the past, trying to figure out why me. Whom do I blame, who can I love without warning and coughing. But I do listen to the past as I struggle to find a path through the mire and myth- most of which I’ve blocked out completely. I wish for clarity and to truly remember, but my brain disagrees and is as stubborn as I am. No, you don’t understand and neither can I, through and through with the rain still hitting the shutters of that house with such force as to summon the dead.

I curse the ground I tromp on and yet smile at a cup of coffee, a pair of kind eyes while I wait in line for cereal, a moment to myself to regain control of the events of my past and present as they flash by. Could I have deserved this at 17? Maybe the roman gods would think so- or so it seems the world would want me to understand. The mad hatter has no more comment at this time.

I may be prone to lucid dreaming and pornography but I have a vengeance that shouts down like a tornado and will channel my historic pain through the ages and future losses and despondents. I haunt the wicked in me, as my calling permits me so, that is the wicked in you and you still remain unclear in my visions in the morning. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

new poem: forget/ Rated R

Do you ever feel like you’ve seen things so horrible,

that you will do almost anything to forget these things.

I just want to forget,

I don’t care the cost,

the dollar,

the alcohol,

the girls and boys,

the styles and schemes,

the songs,

all is worth

the ability to forget.

There were spills and perfumes,

I don’t know,

I can’t remember,

dreams are so real,

like you could reach out

and touch them, you, me.

I suffer when you don’t hear me,

I can’t get that beat out of my head,

so much lost for the price of getting

one person’s attention.

Commit to asylums if you must,

but there must be a better way

out of this mess.

I just can’t seem to remember

the way out of here,

this hole, this tunnel,

this rock and roll hideaway.

I call to the gods of the west,

the hierophants of our remembrance,

the fathers of ghosts and shadows,

must stand and rise and dance into the light,

another time to help us,

once again.

I know I write so much lately,

instead of saying the words out loud,

to you,

but I have become shy and loyal

to the older version of yourself,

that faint glimmer in the mirror,

of a past life,

of brilliance.

Call to the goddesses of the North,

High East,

You are needed to calm the waters,

give us our patience and our strength,

Mary with her Jesus,

watching him give in again.

I sprang awake,

at the thought of war,

oh lord, it is too soon,

we are tired,

Great God,

but God insists to keep on,

though we are weary.

Call to the gods and goddesses

of the Southern plane,

Our native brethren,

call to our energies,

together bring out,

the New Age,

Aquarius is the leader now,

support will be needed for prophets,

changers and shakers,

bring us some ark angels to guide our

strange and weary way.

Prepare say Elijah,

it is the time of legends foretold,

We are coming,

these beacons of the light,

these demonized originals,

we shall rain,

in some hoards and dark nights are ahead.

It is the Mark of the Beast

that growls in the dark unknown,

let us light fire to his dungeons,

and raise him up to see in his eye,

We are here for only a little longer,

maybe.

I am being told from all corners,

we are out of time and fantasy

still distracts us from our

ultimate task.

I call out in the night,

Sanctuary, Sanctuary!

Hollow hallow be the able

to look our savior in the eye,

we will join together,

see through the fog and reach

the labyrinth,

the journey ends and begins

and ends and begins again.

I call to the moon,

we are here,

spirits in red and velvet purple,

we are colors

of the rainbow,

delight and delicate,

each of us to the other,

we are all together mourning

and celebrating a new sun to rise.

Horrible things to see,

to experience,

I hurt,

like screams from inside,

I am taped up,

trapped and sunk,

eyes to dark to see anymore.

I was “other-ed” to seek out,

some med or new style.

Cathedrals are bloody

and hallucinate

bleeding Maries,

Jesus hanged on his cross,

and welcoming in a new era.

Even to write this,

to print these words to the page,

I hear my demons scream

from inside the closet,

they are hungry,

and want out to play.

I am weak

from remembering so much,

so many events,

circus like acts,

man-made icons,

all Hollywood stars

and contracts with

the government.

Let us pray for safety,

for ourbrains,

our beating hearts

fluttering in the breezes of Neptune.

We swam in dank,

dark waters.

Covered bat,

sleeping pills,

skipping around in time,

haunted by visions,

afraid of the dark

and of being all alone in the world.

We are not as such.

We are fierce

Viking-horned

women that face

the trials of hegemony

head on.

Ice cream hostages,

painted and starving patrons of the arts.

In winter time

we are ahh yes,

just the players

in the game of chess.