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.

A Madhatter Toast

Ode to the People:

Cheers my

sisters and brothers!

Lets raise a glass

of absinthe or

bourbon straight,

margaritas on the rocks

to stallions and cigarettes,

fairies in trees,

Irish whiskeys with jigs

in the twilight.

Here’s to Salem witches,

their poor bodies burning,

and especially to those

prophetic perverts,

dragons in an age

of dying magic,

we rock back and forth

with the tide.

And here’s to the believers,

hell,

I can respect that faith

though my dad died

young and left me stranded

so I revolted and spat on the ritual rites

of mainstream media religion

and then,

well of course,

in the fall,

fell for an Order Oracle,

faith folders,

rock paper scissors

rapes by

robot masochists,

of sorts,

and over in

my bedroom lay

thinking of

the ceiling fans

in rooms of

my daughters round the world,

abused and befallen,

I danced a long

bloody waltz

for you in

collective consciousness,

I performed for

the chessboard,

you asshole,

not your raspy idiot

hanged man,

not the high mighties

and their

grasshopper injectors,

I cast you out,

demon fool.

And drinks

with extravagant lovely

toasts,

to those lost

dark eyed boys,

riding the sea

as if they owned her,

I watched you

in grocery stores,

cocaine drifting

sniffers

under fevering festering

florescent lights,

lifting ladies skirts

with licking lips,

snickers and many snarlings,

blisters and boils,

plagues of old heresies

holding you back,

and ahh

fuck it,

just dive in

and let the water

wash over you

with well and welcoming

in the moon

and the night,

healing your scars,

our wounds,

amen.

And holy shite,

I almost forgot,

c’est la vie.

Lifting cups to moist lips,

roasting sweet elixirs,

here’s to the

people from out of the woodwork
staggering out of the wallpaper to

wrestle the angels,

they come,

in shouts,

in soft voices,

late stirrings,

tunes played loud

through headphones,

on futons,

mattresses

slurred along with

sloppy mouths,

tongues etching bodies,

tight cunts,

deep fucks,

ink stains.

To the British

comedy tv shows,

played at 4 in the morning

when no one else

seemed to be aware

of our screaming planet,

aching for release,

dripping pleasure

over sheets,

in hotel rooms

with whiskey sours.

To the earths

revolutions round n about

the universe,

metaphysical planes,

stretching and moody,

drinking way too

much coffee,

giving handjobs

on horrible

orange shag carpeting

with metallica

on the phonograph.

To origami flowers

given to first girlfriends

of estranged

lesbian tendencies.

To the masculine

aqueducts,

the builders of

great art and photography

that left her

with a tear

raining down,

ecstasy and excellent,

hard huge cocks,

wrapped round the thick thighs of time.

To orgasms in

the mornings,

on the way to work,

in bathroom stalls,

grease pits,

office supply closets,

hands gripping bedposts,

asses slapping hard,

thumping with
pulsing organs,

heart and lungs,

bones and requiem.

To the glint of purpose,

a path,

a non-suicidal moment,

an end that’s always and already

a beginning,

to the troubled

in their weary ways,

raise a glass. 

Witching Sounds

Late night cold sweats,

I woke up in

the dark and wanted

to get in the car,

drive in the crisp ghost breathing

heavy air

to heaven and back

before the sun

came up,

fucking alone,

or maybe,

if you fancy,

alone with you.

It was such a grieving

process

at times,

opening my heart again,

the rush of all the old pains

and scars waking up and bleeding,

but we must,

open back up once more anyway,

I suppose.

Hmmm, wish there was a way

to explain my mind,

that twisted peripheral forest,

wicked and slithering vines and veins,

dangerous visions,

sexual cravings

ran so deep and

overwhelmed me in ways

vast and misunderstood,

constant desire

thumping through me

so intense

I couldn’t concentrate

on these words,

I wrote down,

staggered and gasped,

in love and fucking,

lusting teeth.

I missed being under you,

and then on top, ha.

Simple desire

to be taken over,

let you posses me,

only for a moment,

goddamn that felt good.

Id beg

if I thought it would

make one bit of difference,

but nevermind.

And in the dragon’s lair,

lay in waiting,

mistress and monster

bound together

in sorcery and pain.

I always kept your secrets,

my heart expanding

at the thought,

still I hated you

for taking me

for granted.

And even in the midst

of a veracious lust

for the pleasured life,

I rose in the middle of

the darkness round,

with a rage that would’ve

screamed out the windows,

down the driveway,

up and underneath

the streets and highways,

howling out,

the viper within,

even if I hide it

oh so well.

Damn it,

I fooled you again

and then felt guilty,

lil bit sheepish.

Ugh,

I never could say it

quite right,

the hauntings in the mirrors

of adults,

the nightmares

of children,

who cried out for sanctuary.

I sometimes must

just weep with no

explanation,

now,

I know Im losing you,

and I loathe

myself into twilight,

until we,

if we’re lucky,

wake up again,

you holding my hand

in the rain. 

Blood, wine, and Hope

Blood and wine

intertwined 

as broken hearts

mended in the midst

of hurricane season.

My body possessed and murky.

I surrendered my

shadowy light

to the new Aeon,

and coughed up

the rest to the end of the world

monster and mania,

that swept over

rough surfaces like

bare feet pacing through

glass fragments

and the nasty scent of

chemotherapy.

I missed rough sex

at six in the morning,

handprints on

freshly bleached white walls,

sultry syrup and juicy

awakenings,

long deep sighs lingered

and transformed,

ever so delicately,

into moans that

called the moon down

to join us high with pleasure

in the early daylight.

And Fuck it,

the sex was just that delicious

that I could’ve

written,

slurred ravenous nuanced

syllables together

to try to explain the

drug of your sexuality

in my pumping veins,

but I decided to

take hold of my tongues tight

and run away with

your cum still dripping

from my bleeding feet.

Then the Memphis bound

tornado hit

and the land-scaped,

skewed and fretted,

pacing and twitching

with tears dancing

down cheeks in hospital

bathrooms,

IV drips make me sick

and hell waited for us

outside the stain-glass window.

Cancer will drive us all mad,

make no questions, or answers, statements,

concerns, gestures, rolling of eyes, vibrations,

stanzas long enough, harpists, drugists, singers of great odes,

witch doctors, schizophrenics, seers, believers, hopers, dreamers, makers

of wishes, witches, vagrants, flagrants, bleeding hearts,

vampires licking their wounds, angel light flooded with toxins,

freelance writers, smiles in the midst of great pain and grief.

I wept while dancing

and felt free

for the first time in

a month.

Nothing is quite as it seems,

especially me,

Ive found,

the raven sings its

sullen lullabye

in my nightmares

and then in my waking visions

I saw sweet spirit gatherings,

Healing hands,

Soft touches,

and great laughters

even in the midst

of the darkness to come. 

Tantric Vibrations

In the night,

I dreamt our reality awake,

square and rectangle bedrooms

filled with naked bodies,

men and women,

telling half-truths mixed

with cum and sweat

and lingering lies,

dark staircases in the void,

winding downward

to nighttime visions

of fucking in doorway frames,

muses and seraphim,

cunt and dripping,

asses slapping against hard cocks,

oral sex in showers,

weeping and craving,

dancing and fringing on

astral minds,

chaos and light,

fire burning embers,

teasing and quivering

through the tasty twilight,

ghosts and their peripheries,

erotic choreography that you like to watch,

me swaying to the rhythm of the witching gods,

magic told through the body,

urging on prophecies and tantric sex

with supple jazz and vibrations

and telepathy voices

in the early mornings.

I woke up and heard you

and died,

wanting that cold wind

on my hot face,

driving slow and then fast,

down winding roads,

over mountains,

in valleys with stars

describing us,

entwining you and I,

making us drench in classic art and reverie.

Born again,

we unite in smoke and illusion.