Melting Mirrors

The mirror

melted and oozed

its own vibrating reflection,

down the walls

of my hungry,

breathing,

thirsty creation

of a haunted bedroom.

Breathing beast and fire,

morphing identities

into formula fragmented

fancy poses of surrendered apathy,

middle aged men snacking

on paper dolls,

for shame on your sadism,

syrup and sexed blood

staining my springtime dresses,

fights with fists,

cruel words

made me slump silent

though I craved to

yell out in witching twitching

wildness against

the torrent tactics

of steal and

the malicious fortune hunters

with their sickening winking

blurry eyes.

So I hurricaned myself

from my sullen undead slumber,

contorting curvaceous concoctions

of pleasure and breath,

groans loud enough

to wake the house,

along with the creaky

floorboards,

the grandfather clock

banged on in the hallway to its

very own syncopated sweltering rhythms

causing us to be late,

your mouth on my juicy hips,

tongue between my thighs and

erotic cries,

teeth on my neck as you

thrust deep and slow and the headboard

urges us on and moans out the chorus,

though teatime is passing swiftly

with the pastel parental figures

shaking their angry watches,

cautious steps I enter

through the kitchen window

and dabbing the corners

of my delicate red mouth

with the cranky crusty napkins

of the mainstream media.

The panic attacks

ever heaping their

festering sores and

religious rites down

heavy on my

pounding migraine head,

I ate through you

to the other side of

forgiving myself

for staying,

allowing you to speak

so harsh to me,

this way and that,

repeating vicious patterns

made into origami

bouquets of blue and pink,

fevered flowers

that I cant remember

the names of

in their screaming silence

so to keep me up all night,

in the alleyways,

mischief and mayhem,

my fierce stubborn resistance

for the brain beaten down

by chemicals and despair.

To the life lived out

in raspy

wicked passion,

we raise our feisty glasses

to drink in another

fucking hot and humid day.

Pant and dancing out

of coffin nightmares,

superstition sex,

mirrors and warped reflections,

we the weary waking

can change our sorrowful courses,

directions mazed

in requiem aside,

we create the future

with miracles and light.

Nectar.

Veiled from the rear window,

I sucked out the horrorshow of the master and the slave.

Were you miscarried by divinity,

careful- she heads to witness the tired angels
that are awake only

when you are ready to go to bed,

they stay up to guard you from the truly awesome

grisly houses that await us

in the nether life.

Every ether in the cosmos consumed,

the shelf hung up for the afternoon,

keep your distance from me,

a nights worth of peroxide and rat poison,

trees gossip that the queen-ship is over,

carriages dismantled and eaten by wolves.

Blood light given through nectar, woven cross time

identity transubstantiates the services that the government can profound

out of us, slide shows and coffins to dine in,

 without place or purchase.

Spotlight it out of me,

synchronize the levels of insanity-

the lengths one is too ready to leave forsaken
and we craved to surrender arms,

it will at least be a show for you to witness

and discuss with your head later.

Inertia can be bargained avec,

lust was a stranger to no one that I had met

thus far in my trips to circumstance.

Chaos still raining, I kept to the fifth amendment,

coursing through canyons on the underbelly of the earth,

lizard crawling on its stomach.

It came from a place of orphans and mistletoe,

a lone child sit in the stands

coughing up blood like a man of ninety-eight.

Quoi?

I entered the roped-off event,

naked and promising to be wet by the end of the evening.

Myths come true in the shade we are under,

in ends of times paraphernalia.

We suffer the loss of habit,

but I give up under pressure and succumb to the

wantings of a strange world, exotic and peripheral. 

End of the War - 2012

She had been fractured into just pieces of light, now, in this place of dark creepings and screams from the underworld. God give her grace in the ways that she can’t even ask for or that she even knows how to, what to say. You are not alone. I bleed and twitch in the brain just as you do. Do not laugh because there is nothing funny going on in the world that I can see. I had slipped through the cracks in the sidewalk that I skipped down when I was much younger, generations younger. In a time when there was still space to breathe, even in the dirty streets of Chicago. Please don’t distract me from the inevitable weeping and tearing of clothes. I bled ashes from the days when Christ walked the earth, so she told me.

Poor Mary to be swept up in the tempest that Shakespeare struggles with in later times. I can’t stand to see him gripping the sides of his pain and his bed. Teacups crashed to the floor on a regular basis in my family. I wanted more than anything to dance the nerves and the red energy out of the toxicity of my bones but no moves came, not even old ones that I knew by heart, walking and grinning from ear to Cheshire ear. Lies were so much easier, I love you.

Don’t bother staying around cause I was the asteroid to hit the world in the year 2012.