The Magic and the Mystic Intertwine

Talking barbies

took the bait,

makeup oozing

from drowned pores,

bones and toxins

were all that remained

of the screaming soul

that just wanted

to be “pretty”

in a world where

plastic dolls

are lifted up

as idols,

poisonous mythos

of beauty,

funneled through

our bleeding ears,

taunting us in our sleep,

beating us down

to the asphalt,

chemicals and self-loathing.

Could I waltz

you away through time?

Kicking the empty glasses

and rusty newspapers aside,

tumbling down sultry staircases,

we dance

through the gaping eye

in the candle flame.

We may falter,

for a moment,

swaying too swiftly

in the grass

that softly licks

our ankles

with the dew

from the morning,

my tongue tasting

the energy

passing back and forth

between us

with an audible sigh

from the outdoor furniture. 

You and I

crashed together

like lightning striking earth,

as it zips and splits

through the sky,

thrusts himself deep

into her holy ground,

she moans low and rough,

responds with

shaking and resonating pulses,

her voice vibrating

the air like a fury,

the Magic and the Mystic

growling and grinding

into each other

so that the dawn

could brings us

to wake and rise

maybe one more day,

in the heat of the dawn

and death roaring,

slicing space

like a switchblade

cutting tinsel. 

Rubber Acid Hymnal

Whirling sandstorm,

I craved to come down upon you,

away from my wretched ethers,

into your sleep

like soothing soft cool rain

on hot sweat dripping days,

quite a wondering

wide-eyed height.

Could I tender out

your vicious nightmares

in the waking hours?

Oh please

with a sweet small sting and a sigh

to the left and right corners

of your eyelids.

I wept sudden and full,

staggered desperate breaths on

rusty bed corners,

up all night and

the days to come,

wanting to unburden

you so much so

that to not touch your quivering hands

makes me ill

with writhing flashes,

horrors performed

on our precious holy humanity.

The tortured souls

drove me mad to

exorcise old

quanderings and procedures,

tight misconceptions and

trafficked mechanisms,

stale perceptions of wrath wars

and egos,

violent instincts,

anger raging out on me

so hard,

I choked agony down,

thus found in my bones breaking

slowly,

under the pressure

of it all.

Magic patterns and witnesses

then must thrust and twist,

wrap around us

beauty and empathy,

connected to

the river flows,

energy weaving our liquid

and juicy spirits together

in hallowed peripheries and prophets,

regardless of the

undertaker knocking

loud aggression

as to almost drown

out the supple sound

of surges and tidal waves of revolution,

superconductor connections,

electric rolling earths,

delight realms

of euphoria

to just loosen the

grinding jaw,

even a little,

the muscle aches eased slightly,

the stress headaches

painted desperate desired sanctuary on our faces,

insomnia tripping elements

into suffering spaced

dark visions

of the games being played,

temperatures gnashing,

growling out at

each other

in teeth sharpening suicidal tendencies.

I panted then,

with sharp moans,

within the struggled coliseums

to hide discretely

the trauma,

blushes and downturned eyes

to the brutal ground,

shake out the heartbreak

and the death rates,

my introverted

awkward

octopus ponderings

striving for words,

yet found only movements

etched round my curves,

even just faint whispers

to kiss lightly

the wounds,

burns and blisters

on innocent lovely

skin,

yet even the flesh itself

thrashes about

in its restless caged soul,

supernatural natures

harnessed by the

toxic systems of

desolate cement,

dead eyes,

vacant complacent airs

of oppression and

unjust accountants

screaming lies and corruption.

Enough.

We silenced the idolized hymnal of

the almighty him and masqueraded her,

their faked flailing

excuses stomped out

by our

hopeful staggering cries,

to our families,

blood and water entities

howling back

to healing,

to living love out

even with boots

crunching our necks.

I laughed out loud at

your silly stupid scared propaganda.

Ha,

As if faked fucked,

even bloody

plastic and rubber acid

could keep us down. 

Anarchy Body

Giving gentle thanks

to the bright blood

cardinal,

that sings daily

outside my window,

the trees teaching

me earth breathing,

I felt the ancients with

their old ground n

fire languages,

soothe my aching skin,

sleep deeply,

for even just

a breath,

then the world glows alive

with resonance and wicked beauty,

made me yearn for something

more.

And look,

I know you

with rolling eyes,

deep sighs,

slurping down

beer bottles in

kitchens with

pastels,

cow motifs and

casual heroin,

cups and saucers,

daydreaming in

wrathful colors,

squirming round

in your sleep,

damn honey,

the lonely starting

to fuck with you,

start seeing strange creatures

crawling through even stranger

nightmares,

seeing lies instead of truths,

weeping willows,

blah blah blah,

shut your goddamn head up,

if you can,

dances in the dark,

headphones and

cats and tears on pillows,

softly,

wrapped up snuggly

in heavy blankets,

amidst a heat wave,

to wreak out the

memory of touch.

Ah!

such weary aching

and untapped sweet magic

could change the world,

if we could just

get out of bed,

in the morning,

with vast

coffee cups

and

scribbled poems,

tattered clothes,

let us tear our masks off,

together,

show our bloodied noses,

our busted eyes,

our broken eardrums,

and those scars

tell a history,

experiences survived,

they don’t define

your future,

my dear.

Sunshine stepping,

We unveil,

standing naked,

in our tears and

beat down bones,

we commune

in light and love and pain,

then to awaken,

anarchy bodied,

divinity dancing

out the tops of our head,

through our fancy fingers,

deep throats,

weak elbows,

bent knees,

healing feet.

Come in.

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.

The Age of Machines

This is my reaction,

formally known for its brutally profane nature

of once bloodstained walls,

now white washed and shiny,

the color being gone,

thus the deed, unimportant.

....

The prostitution rites,

arched and heaving,

over the graves of the elite,

kept secret,

the last sigh of the hanged man

on the hill

that the church strung up

as a publicity stunt,

bringing in some extra cash

for the new baptismal pulpit.

....

I was asylumed-

twitching prophecy

that became internalized by the collective conscious,

as blasphemy and rhetoric.

....

The doctors come in,

white trench coats of the republic,

gave way to the revolution

over the rainbow and back again,

same shit over and over.

I could not see

through the labyrinth of the fire queen

and the white rabbit.

Beauty so horrifically defined

as to render one blind and deaf

to the dying of mankind,

and the age of the machine and madness.

....

I reached out,

one shaking hand,

from the black curtain,

and found cold steel

pressed against my palm-

exchanging blood for plasma

and volcanoes burning.

....

We ate dirt and pills

fed to us as caviar and saturated fats,

and we had the fucking gall

to believe them

without a sound of screaming.

....

Supernatural became a myth.

What?

I was told to follow behind

the stations of the cross,

a bloody tantric eulogy.

You are trying my patience.

The harlequin shaman

tries to wake up, open you up,

and ends up in a morgue

in Brooklyn,

where she was born,

back to dust

to regain, what,

honor? glory? Money?

Can I step into your cell

without purging

your caffine stressed,

cocaine repressed,

alcohol obsessed,

poetic reverence.

....

No, all I see

is bourbon sloshed shadows.

If you don’t know where you are,

what the fuck am I supposed to do about it.