Magic Bones

Tigers working the printing press,
we stumble on,
sharpening teeth in our soaking mouths
with fever and fervor,
to make slyly simple actions into grand metaphors of
desire that deepen and delivered doorstep prophecy,
leaves crackle underfoot,
apothecary apprentice
turns pages for the master and smiles at the time clock
clicking backwards to the center of the womb,
friends partaking each other in dark secrets
held inside lungs for 18 cold years,
until a staring sad eye swept over her,
in just the right direction
with a calming sensation behind the throat,
and so she foretold her untold woes
to a quiet humming wanted phantom
who sobbed and held her hand until dawn came upon them,
so slowly and subtle,
delicate touch under a harsh sun.

I unwound you from your lies
and shaking wounded rage,
if you could perchance dare to shut your fake and fucked mouth,
I could explain astral projection radiance,
channels so intense that I felt my soul riot
and ricochet out of my body,
into brains and tempest creatures,
witness the revelation of the empath,
what twas meant when I said I could stand in a room
full of gasping water ghosts
and see looming interactions
coming up in the spaces between continuum and architectured consciousness,
quaking relationships heaving frustrated breath at each other,
vaguely hidden erotic meanings in casual lounges,
spiked delusions,
preemptive strikes and premature ejaculations,
sexed pill distractions,
porn and milk,
effort relaxed into science sleazy therapy and
doctor visits cleverly disguised as getting better,
with little effort on your part,
of course,
with such great greed money to be made,
oh blessed be the corrupt pigged america,
his torture mind tricks,
tacks nailed straight on through our fingerprints,
tinkering out twisted melodies,
blood dabbled marks on white and black keys,
grand pianos shoved in almost always forgotten corner closets
or dusty dank basements of the obscene elite.

Then after the ghosts with their horrorshow heads,
nailed and bloody battered serenades,
I felt a sexy sizzle spark up through my insides,
made me sigh heavy,
got aroused,
dripping
wet
so wanting
that twouldve slipped supple down your soft skin,
blush slightly,
though always hide my kink ravenous
pulsing pleasure fucking well
like a snarky alchemist hatstand
holding back a throbbing head erection.

Twilight coming down deep around me,
caressing gently away the pain and manipulative pressure,
fissure flashbacks of cruel men before.
Night had a way with wonderful whimsical words,
safe havens for once in what seemed like centuries
of marionettes tied together with barb wire, scare tactics, and tears.
Oh hungry mouths,
spine magic wrapping around my haunted psyche,
raptured out the lonely that strangled me in dreaming,
hanged me to swing back and forth,
sick in my waking,
a perceived innocent peering out of syrup yummy rainy windows,
longing so desperately to somehow
escape all this misery and malice,
etched under my poor poisoned brain,
screaming headaches down my limbs to limbo
and back again.

Mm though the sunset times cuddled me just so kindly and aware,
with warm palms stroking away the sadness,
lips tender,
teasing and caring enough to taste me fully,
healing me awake,
lulling away from the nightmare that was mine
to hold in shadow,
never to whisper or shout out loud the visions
that sewed my mouth shut
and taught me to trust no touch or kindness from anyone. 
To be cradled, comforted without conditions
and payment plans, games and rude expectations,
what a lovely thought.

I still hope,
while painting rooms with fanciful footwork,
swaying naked sultry curves pressed heavy against yours,
or scribbling my sagas,
sacred rites and witchcraft,
visions enthralled in thunder and seraphim,
that I will be loved as wildly as I have loved,
expressing affection and unconditional moans of sex and passion unyielding,
there must be others out there in the ethers as I,
souls for which love and light are the rhythm
they melt and vibrate to,
could take me inside and on top,
into the depths of their being
without cages and chains and violence.

Holy awakening world,
where are you?
Hold and rush to me quickly,
before I sink back into the earth
to avoid the constant breaking
of my bones and
battered heart strings,
for all the dead and dying,
I cannot bare the sight.

Hush

Mmm hush now,

look,

Im sorry, I never

tried to feign perfection,

like a snake

shakes free from wrongful

words spoken,

images born through

misunderstanding,

what could I do?

Nothing, really.

Must just drag one foot

in front of the other,

somewhere,

any fucking moment I could grasp,

beg to see redemption in the eyes

of the gods and

angels

before me.

Ugh,

I felt filthy,

couldnt wriggle away

from this feeling of ugly,

put on me from round me

and even through

myself,

echoes of demons

caved me in again

on myself,

Im so sorry,

truly,

I am.

But I pull away

so as not to burden

you

further.

And yet,

weep lonely,

which Im sure works wonders on YOUR skin

 but leaves me

in ashes,

barely breathing,

but for writing and a small whisper to get up again

from some little piece of my head.

The painted

white chorus

circus horses

dance round

with much

drinking and laughter,

I clawed at the ground

to be moved,

felt,

heard,

freed from my scars,

for one Breath’s width of time,

at least.

Amen.

Enough.

Bloody love and tears,
Jesus- just look at me
and fucking say it,
I want to hear those
pill induced "truths"
spit out of your hot mouth:
you don't love me,
Boy doll stupid.

Kill me just once more,
please baby,
and ha-
write you out of my sucken spirit,
sink into the mad hatter
to stop the crying
and the horrifying sanity.

Oh, don't worry,
morning sickness,
sex between best friends,
I push,
you pull,
and come around again.

And now you sleep
while I feel you loving her,
hurting me and
pretending not to notice.
Daft puppet,
apathetic tyrant,
you make me so very tired.

I suppose I regret falling
in love with you,
happy monster,
you drained me of my self-assurance.
Knowing nothing anymore,
lie to me a little longer
because I need that from you,
I guess, hell,
I don't know.

Nightmare intuition
be gone
from my skull!
I loathe these images
that flash in my head,
jesus turn them off,
I beg you-
before I break
and never regain my fallen angel mythos.

And don't tell me
you understand,
because honey, you don't.
Schizophrenic mayhem abides
in the twilight,
ever lurking
like a virus that's
knocking at your back door:
"I want in," he screams,
"and I know you can fucking hear me."

Join the circus with me,
the inner freakshow in you
always smirks at me in the dark,
inviting my energy to slip inside you
when you're not paying attention.
And deep underneath you,
I know you love it.

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.

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. 

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. 

Enough of this madness. I will bring us out of the rabbit hole.

I felt ruled by an energy,

that I could not really explain,

in words.

I will struggle again,

strive to explain,

that when you bleed-

so do I.

Enough of this madness,

we come out of the rabbit hole,

shaking.

No, my therapist did not

tell me to write this note.

I write due to a calling I feel,

a vocation for now.

Another pressing need,

I have to write it down,

try to express,

tell you-

anywhere out there,

that things we be alright.

Can you hear?

Are you listening?

I will chill us out,

calm us down,

take some of this pain and strain away,

I will not leave.

There are ghosts everywhere,

all wanting attention,

in every room I walk into,

it seems.

Can be tiring sometimes.

It seems this kind of thing

runs in my family.

I have needs shouted and whispered,

people need a lot sometimes.

I give until I crash,

it will work itself out.

No worries,

ladies and fancy fellas.

Love is a deep and tricky thing.

Ah well, the game of chess continues

in our absence, ever ticking. 

Gravity & The Rabbit Hole

It seemed my deepest

fears were rooted,

in tarot cards and false prophets.

When the electric shock

moved through you like a razor blade,

and the lights flickered,

I knew my kind, the lackluster bloodline,

had come to visit- just a polite hello and a shadow.

I could shape into

anything you needed,

felt my teeth stretch,

ache to pulse,

into the nearest shivering astral scream.

Particles moved on a whim,

but I knew better than that,

the game was an illusion

to distract from the lunar eclipse

that kept us shuffling on-

heads to the concrete:

not that a fucking person was paying attention anyways.

The night watchers

fell asleep,

lulled to sleepwalk

by the sleazy piano man.

It gave me headaches

to play the same cards

over and over-

boring and dishonest,

when I was ice burning,

the battle of spiritual

awakening played out

in my head every night.

I dreamed of tortured strangers,

Jack the Ripper nights in London,

angels falling-

and Alice forever tumbling down the rabbit hole.

Astral Teeth

You felt the sigh on the back of your neck.
I pant in rhythm with you,
rock back and forth,
count the tiles on the floor,
49 cracks in history.
I missed you
like my last cigarette,
heaving to feel the smoke come back,
make toxic my lungs again.
I was in breakdown mode,
mood swings like
dragon tails.

I fail to be the follower,
Houdini screaming
in his straight jacket drowning.
I betrayed you to the devil,
tears fall down the back side
of the clock
ticking in the hallway.
There was not enough
closet space for the creature
that hid within,
and the 64 pairs of shoes you bought.

I paint pictures,
vulgar in exhibition
imploding on the inside of the brain.
We chose to channel you,
Christ and his wounds
Stalin and his gun.
Twilight crept into bone-
you shrink away from the darkness.
You were missing
the beauty of the moment.

I gave up on reassembling
your brain.
Too many sunsets on cells,
we see them all,
dying to be the martyr.
I refuse to sin
the way you want me to.
Did you think I was gonna
wave a fucking wand?
Make the pain evaporate,
displace the pain to someone else?
The game is not what you think.
Chess only had so many options.
The moon recalls your struggle
to accept the dying.

But you couldn't help but think,
you are not who we thought you were,
stranger backlit by shadows.
I took the stigmata on
and laughed in your face.
The portals have been opened,
the closets refilled with monsters,
the attics and basements of America
haunted.
I came through the fog
purging T.S. Elliot,
demanding redemption,
a second chance
to live as someone else.
Crucify your own damn soul
for I will not comply again
as when I walked the streets of London,
vampire to few
that felt my rage
rush the streets,
my teeth
taking your quaking soul
to the astral plane.