Freak Hiss

I freaked my way

through the space

between your heart beats

and the stained sheets that

lay on your dirty floor.

Unnerving I know,

but my supernatural pulse

would not permit me

to stay in these

rundown bones of mine.

Dragonflies lost on the subway,

I never quite felt

the sense of belonging,

rolling my eyes at the sputtering lies

I heard in coughing crusty crowds,

sighing to the tune of my

senses dulling,

dreaming damned,

I hissed inferno and magic

which was misinterpreted

as snake songs and graffiti.

Frowns of forefathers

and sobs of our earthen mothers

in the time that passed silently

backwards,

we habitually settled

for hasty hiking up of skirts,

dungeon detail,

gravel eating,

and the sour tastes

of ghosts in our pained periphery.

I craved instead-

staring holy hallucinations

in the eye,

taking the metaphysical plane

in our dripping mouths,

sex teeth glistening,

laughing at such a ravenous freedom

that could be ours if we so choose it,

birthing luscious melodies

and banging on the furniture

with frenzied fucks,

an eroticism

so intense,

so very deep,

kept me in a constant

state of orgasm

which I learned from the moon,

how to quiet my howling head.

I craved to have your skin

throb and ache

to the rhythms of my own,

feel my bones

wake up in the night and shake

hearing your voice

whispering me back to bed

when I went wailing and walking

in my restless sleep

through the ether tremors,

your subtle stroking

soothing the seizure visions,

soft and sultry,

stealing me away

from thundering nightmares,

lifting my body

up through the dark.

Wrap around me again

and hoist bright lanterns

above my wicked forehead,

illuminating even the creep places in my

screaming skull.

Show me any goddamn reason to give

this sorrow earth

another chance

in the morning

whilst I just

want to lay in bed all day

and drown my memories out

with my molten tears.

Yet as I cringe at the thought of the dawn,

another stifling day

without a hand to hold,

a glorious cold

swept in,

slinking inside me

through the open window,

I moaned

with the pleasure

she brought down,

my brain alive

with predicate possibilities,

sizzling desire

ricocheted through

my bloody veins,

reminding me

hope can always be found,

even in the murk and the mire.

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. 

Kali's Spirit

Kali’s spirit seemed

to softly land,

surprisingly enough,

lifting clouds

of chaos as if

veils from on

top of my head,

the moon

shone bright

dripping down from

the sky to

its own reflection

in pure ecstasy

deep into the ocean

with smiles

turning to laughter,

and the

trees seemed

to notice,

they move along

to the singing

throat vibrations

that fell off

my green-tongued scales

and rhapsodied notes,

hierophant and

third-eyed hands

talking in their sleep

of dreams,

planes of heaven

on earth,

I still believed

absolutely always,

in miracles,

even when stuck

in pits of asphalt

with burning toxins,

being poured on skulls,

crossbones and crows,

eating flesh,

stomach upsets,

I coughed and spat out

that violence

shoved at you,

at me,

and dance,

very firmly in the sunshine,

in streams and

deep caverns

with splendor,

in tandem

tantric collective,

holy sisters,

sacred brothers,

reverent fathers,

wisdom mothers,

strongly yet humbly

we stomp the earth

in great thanks and celebration,

for the birthing

from weeping wombs,

carnal serenades,

green colors

to the worlds end and

beyond,

stars and angels,

love and light

be with you,

Kali and her

Metaphysics. 

Spring Fever

Wisdom and shark tanks

ate up

the twirling smoke

above my head,

as I stared at the

fateful ceiling,

reincarnating

apothecaries and

metaphysics,

colors pining

for the nighttime

when toads

croak their songs

in the summer,

heat smolders

you like a

chorus of

fireflies burning,
and you drink it all in.

The Witch Doctor Visions

I was born into the hands
of a laughing demon
in the back room of an apothecary
in New Orleans
circa 1617.

Let it be known that
when the witch doctor stared
into my red eyes,
the moment of my first cries,
he sucked air into his mouth fast,
held his breath for 45 seconds
and then let it out with a deep sigh
that rattled the very walls
of that establishment
and then he groaned in disillusion.

I knew what he was thinking
and thus I responded
with a haunted growl,
the flock of ravens
sitting on the tombstones
across the street
took flight in whispers
and soft hisses.

Meanwhile,
in a small village in
modern day Pakistan,
a rebel for the white knight
mounts his horse,
shouts into the sky
an old religious curse
on the land
and leads his soldiers
to the center of the town-
he was told to leave no survivors
and he is a man who follows directions.
I could hear the screams
from where I lay,
mass graves leave an energy imprint
on our DNA,
Templar fever is spreading.

Approximately one hour after the slaughter,
a 23 year old man awakes
from his nightmare sweating
and turns to his Russian wife:
"wake up,
that fucking bastard
killed even the children
in that little town
with the tip of his
thrusting sword,
into their chests,
drinking their blood.

Soar with me to the 21st century,
watch the goth teens
down that one alley in Brooklyn,
shooting up heroin again,
standing in the shadows,
waiting for hot legs to walk by and bother-
just because,
"hell, there's nothing else
to do in this fucking lame town."

Sitting in my shower,
taking crawlspace intuition
deeper into wonderland,
I fall into the rabbit hole
and wait for the secrets
to unfold in the basement
where my astral body lands:
Joan bennet Ramsey and her father,
painted faces,
sad eyebrows and dark horses
swarm around me.
I cough and the man
standing in the corner
by the window steps into view,
he laughs and disgusts me.

I jolt awake and vomit out the sinister maniac
with the wild beast hair
hanging in his face.
I watched him murder that poor child
with a plastic bag and a hair tie,
and after a night like this one,
I will never be the same.
All the visions I have,
I carry with me into the daytime,
but I won't tell you every image-
most I take with me to the sea
with the moon
shining and smiling on the water.

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.

Harvest Moon and Lipstick

One miserable miscarriage later,
two spirits
dance in the flames
inside one body,
reflecting light
on an empty stage,
fedora askew I stand in stockings and lipstick.
I miss you,
in the waves
of dark that flow
over and in
and through me.
I see burning painted men
on the metaphysical plane,
angels and women too,
the plague is
spreading.

Singing in my room,
swaying those two spirits again
up to the ceiling.
My mantra repeats:
on my terms
I will be passionate,
and forgive
in abundance.
You are young yet
and will not understand,
sweet monster
of the north-
drink your whiskey,
sip on wine.

Make me believe -
through the lies
and the humanity,
holy crossed staves,
Helen in the mirror,
she pays the rent,
and even has the heart
to sex you
though you don't deserve her.

But we were just friends
at a carnivale,
I caught your eye,
you stuck me on your wall to remember,
and I kinda liked it,
I confess,
and I'll write your heart out,
I don't mind.
Mais, c'est triste pour moi
regarder tout seul.

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.