The Wandering Thunder

What the rain said

in the deep night,

when she cursed 

the sky that birthed her,

hissing next to my ear lobe,

she meant

every,

word,

and I kept her secrets

tucked carefully away 

in shadows.

I woke up

feeling old, and 

as the sun came up,

wondered how he 

keeps pulsing light,

finding the energy

to keep glowing 

is beyond me

though something always to

strive for regardless 

of the teeth-y world.

Cant quite understand

why the sky can thunder down

shaking the fucking earth,

but can't simply open her

fantastic mouth 

and take me inside.

Confessions of the Burning Phoenix

Angels in archways,

I ran my car down the

dirty ditch road and into your

peripheral vision,

bloody and bruised,

crawling towards the air and earth,

my hands dug in deep,

and freed myself from crunched metal,

warped screaming seatbelts,

tire track stains,

upside down falling to the gravel

as the headlights race by.

I don’t mind resting here

for a time,

seconds had strung me out

like new meds

mixed with liquor and crushed ice.

Watching you popping pills

was boring me and so I slept instead

and tried to forgive you for not

fucking me every night and morning.

Damn it,

things were swimming and going well,

and then that

cancer sickness spread and

left us lurching,

back and forward.

Through late nights

of hysteria and tantric consecutive visions of

death and sex,

as hours drifted over

our weary heads and

we felt we were losing it all.

The battle degrading us further

into silence.

And with that flooding

of trauma,

back into my bloodstream,

I began to awake,

once again,

in the middle of the night

with dreaming of past hauntings,

that man taking my little innocence,

over and over,

with lies and cruelties,

without asking first,

a violence so brutal

it left me numb for years following,

I cried and wanted to

bleach my brain for thinking

of that year I danced

with the devil

and he grinned and giggled

at my bloody suffering.

Id love to forget

all the acts of anger and aggression

that he played out

on my bare bones,

but the senses and memories

stay and like to linger

in the morning.

And so,

though the abuse still

faces me in the mirror,

from time to time,

I remain breathing

through the pain,

living love and better,

forgiving louder,

dancing and

performing my sexuality

with vibrant beats of my heart,

and stamping feet on the ground,

shouting,

I survived,

and Im still staggering forward.

Phoenix burning

and yearning a revolution

to its knees, at least,

looking and howling in the moonlight. 

Flood

And in the flood

of our tears,

pouring out of

our windows,

into the streets to

meet the rivers

and into the ocean,

our dead children

shriek

and we shudder in their

shadows,

trying to listen hard to the earth’s vibrations

to find some kind of humanity again.

Ive lost sight of it

in the midst of the blood

and misery.

The dark angel

came into my room,

winged death,

and I was not afraid.

Death was no stranger,

her beauty and wisdom

shimmers through the darkness,

and she tastes like honey,

between her legs

runs a tempest of

a storm that will eat you alive,

if you ask nicely,

venom and cinnamon,

and whispers

of the Mayan end times.

I lift my voice up to the sky ceiling,

for us,

my fellow heathened angels,

our eyes dark and blazing,

sparking prophets,

harlequin saints,

having laced fucks

with spirit sex and magic

in the deep night,

all hands

and mouths

open to the awakening

cuming inside

each other,

vision and visionary,

unite in wet dreams,

cock and cunt,

and lips, breath,

fading into moonlight,

sighing in reverie.

Damn it all,

it was in my head,

just a dream,

I woke up always alone,

in a blaze of

serpent and phoenix,

intertwined with my bones.

Good morning.. 

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.

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.
what?
Did you think twisting flames
together was going to be an easy game?
Ha.
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-
puff,
blow,
puff,
blow.
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,
menage-a-trois,
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,
every
fucking
moon- caressed
sky beckons
me nearer.

Twilight begs forgiveness
though
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
poison-
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.

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.

I had a dream

Trembling alone,
I awake.
With a rush
you enter through me.
It was tug of war
with the monster,
crows flying low
in the daytime.
You looked up and to the left,
tilting your head slightly,
kind of reminded me of
what Oscar Wilde might've done
when trying to think
of the right word
whilst holding a brandy.

Dive in,
listen to the heartbeat,
reminds me of the house
we lost in the winter
of my early adolescence.
Now she
holds her head in her hands,
Pregnant scares
and Captain Morgan.
She prayed to a tornado sky:
God, I'm not ready.
He didn't answer.

Late nights dripping in
the moon,
we surrender
to the four walls
and the blacklight stage.
I entertain you.
You will miss it,
when the shadows come.

Nightmares wake us up,
we reach out in
the darkness
and find we are alone.
And yet,
I recall the soft touch,
the whisper,
the breath
heavy on my face.

Sad Eyes

Sad eyes one evening
lead to nine sleeping pills
which she took throughout the night,
each taking her to a new layer of Dante's hell.
Her favorite setting
was to run amongst the suicide trees,
blood drips from the young birch
and the re-birth
of the hierarchy of sins
is etched into the stone
of the collective conscious,
the vultures circle,
the martyr hangs.

Mad dogs reign,
the earth implodes under the pressure
of the storm a-coming
in the corners of the world in which
there is only darkess,
perpetual twilight.
Let them suffer,
the magistrate pronounces
over the loud speaker
and goes back to his
flask of bourbon
which he tells his wife
is just water and lemon juice.

Everyone is lying to you.
Wave your flag,
drink your poison,
thrust the knife in deeper inside of me,
twist it around
and make me wait.
I smirk and let you
take my life,
smile the Cheshire grin.

Give me energy
that sticks in my throat,
violence seen through
the needle's eye.
I will only ask you once.
Are you there?

Blackbird

Mister Blackbird,
believing he's a Phoenix,
performs Hari-Kari
in the shadow
that the moon makes on the earth.
I dance in his ashes
with my voodoo dolls
and lack of morality
as formally declared by The State.

War crimes,
suicide hotlines,
C.S. Lewis prays
to a fatherless God
and his friends
pretend not to notice.

The "Mary Me" mythos
takes another life and
I wake up in a bathtub
holding an empty bottle of
Russian vodka-
a pyramid tatooed to my forehead
and without a fucking clue
as to how I got there.

Voice Lessons

Midnight in the morgue,
awaiting Lazurus to rise again,
I spent the night in
a southern coma,
slurping tequila and
waiting for the devil
to show,
he does,
just 45 minutes late,
and that pisses me off.

The barn starts to throb,
pulsing vibrations
send the energy through the spine,
let the rythmn
be your religion.
Reconcile the demons,
stomp your feet
and feel the Earth move
through you.

We are chained
to the machine,
our fists turning bloody,
our tears still slave to
the demands of the government.

Prisons filling up,
no evidence,
no rights read,
and yet we are still happy hypnotized humanity
under the capitalist Big Top.
We are killing our collective consciousness
without even knowing it,
only ruin will come in the morning.

I weep daily now,
truth spat out,
mixed with tar and gasoline,
but dancing is better,
barefoot on the
white carpet,
sizzle with the heat
of the moment that is passing by.
I try to regret nothing
and yet live haunted-
Ann Boleyn
headed to the slaughter.

Visions and visitors

Drip young,
we wept in the morning
when the haunted stranger
with the ripped knapsack
left out of the basement window,
forgetting his red bandana and
taking the whiskey out of the liquor cabinet.

Ghost stories for kids,
the Druids in their black dresses
let loose in the graveyard,
pant under the night sky
and then left in the ditch
to die at sixteen.

Ginsberg left me hungry,
climb the mount
and surrender to visions of
blood spills and iconography.
Kill the creep,
martyr the saint,
and suck the angels dry,
just another day
in the hump backed whale,
breathing and sweating crazy.

Enter the Big Top,
split me right down the middle,
female and male,
freak that I am,
missing you and the monster,
and the shadows in my mirror agree.

My dreams are waking up
and demanding
to talk to management.
Let me in,
to smoothe you over
and forget the darkness
between us,
at least till the sunrise.

Low dreaming

Risk gravitas,
we welcome in the new python,
radiation snake
slithers over our heads,
twisting in the sunset.

The trees outside my window
are moving and talking,
their bodies melding together.

Music theory
and silence kept me awake,
though I tremble
in the darkness, always alone
at 3 in the fucking morning,
waiting for a sigh
or a sign, I guess.

It would seem
my mind will play chess
with the devil,
and not give a damn.
I awake in a strange bed
and then realize
I'm still dreaming.

Wild Work

Puzzle me
to the beating of your bones.
Lend me a soft hand
to spill my tears upon,
into the river they drift
and mix in with sand
at the bottom of the ocean.

Set me unchained into the wild,
feeling the rain on my
naked back.
I revolt,
while you reflect on coffee filters
and no.3 pencils
that you had in 3rd grade
when you caught that girl's eye.

Suffer me,
the blues swallow me,
and sigh.
I will feel the pain,
put on the Cheshire grin,
leap out of the window
and into the Moon's light.

The hanged man and the fool

I miss the winter,
that chilling of the spine
reminds me I'm alive.
Nothing quite like
teeth-chattering reality,
I suppose.

You make me move
slither in and out,
unfold with me,
take me to that creeping show,
discover
that you know nothing
at all about me,
deep down,
in the bone.

I saw the Hanged Man
in my dreams,
lay me down,
thus to rise again.
The red dragon ever purging
within me.
The Fool is laughing
because he doesn't give a fuck.

Creep

The pain struck a chord,
a tension she felt in her back
and neck, crushing her chest.
Though she wouldn't admit it,
her characters are falling
through the hole in the wall
where the wind comes in.

And there's always a part of you
that wants to spit fists
and bleed,
and fuck,
and not indeed in that order.
So it seems to me,
I can't stare down the monster,
unless I become her.
The deepest low
I've ever known
comes crawling in the back door
hungry and impatient.
So I stand in the mirror,
waiting to witness this unknown creature,
to speak to this bastard beast,
in the dark,
and in the morning I cry slightly,
but my face still splits into a grin
as I meet the creep
for the first time:
he stands behind me laughing.

Move

Tortured villages,
watch them burn.
The body bags line the streets
in my dreams,
turning into nightmares.
Keep it secret,
most of the time.

The drums keep beating.
We grind to the rythmn
out of instinct
and animal desire to survive.
In the winter,
we dine with the angels,
drinking gin out of the bottle,
free of puppet strings,
we recount the endless streams
of conscious collective visions.

We walk circles,
priesthood and circus training,
we are here to entertain
and provoke you to move.

Dark clouds forever plague me.
The darkness thickens,
the sickness takes without delay,
forget it all,
and it just haunts us more.
Skin grows cold and the hunting begins.
I'm drowning in heavy,
sinking low in the harmony,
dancing and coughing up blood.
What is happening to me?

A tornado almost ripped my heart
out of my body.
I miss my dad enough...
can't finish.
What else was there to say?
I suppose that my jaw clenches,
I feel the tears fall indeed
down my cheeks again.
Opened the floods in me, it did.

I will make sure that the puzzle piece
of me you hold in your hand
will disappear as soon as you
pick up another dirty sliver off the pavement.

Forever melting,
I take the fire
back into my mouth,
breathing heavy,
tantric eyes.
Lift me up,
forgive me and move.

Her and Him

Here comes the water weeping,
I shake to satisfy the thirst
of dirty prophets and their beasts alike.
My voice is lost in the
clatter of the living and the dead.

When we close our eyes
we see fire and ice,
sex and religion,
holy and cursed,
fabrications of a mind twisted in pain.

I tempted death,
even laughed with him
in a bar shaped like a
chicken egg
in a small town called Nantucket,
near the swamps down there and to the left.

We ate gin
and shot some pool
with several showgirls
from across the street,
a little joint called the Opus Lounge,
where you can watch
silk slink off a table
23 times an hour.