Ophelia Thrill

I got a delicious thrill

in the mere act of

watching you

watch other people.

You seemed interested,

just as I,

in these strange

and exotic beings,

bumping up against

other flailing spirits,

little blushes and

brushes with

pleasure and mortality.

It was really the

body rhetoric that

drew me in,

feeling subtle energy cues,

creeping from my pulsing third eye

steadily down to my blistered feet

like an adrenaline rush

of pleasure in the nighttime.

I heard the whispers

of words that you never

dared to say,

pound in my ears

like three lines of a song

that sticks in my head,

on repeat.

And you didn’t have to explain

with tongues lashing out of holy mouths,

because I was always

well versed in the language

of tasty bones and blood,

pumping and betraying

your so-called secrets to me.

And though you feigned

apathy and callous cognition,

you and I both knew better,

just another scared and sacred boy,

craving to be heard

through the machine white noise

and speaker feedback.

I felt stuck though,

falling for other fallen angels

that I wanted to

embrace so softly,

long enough

to soothe and sex the pain out

of their broken astral bodies,

found instead

that they sucked me dry

of my healing powers,

black hole taming,

your addictions and afflictions

held on to my already clipped wings,

taking me straight down

to the rivers of hell

and high water,

drowning me slow,

submerging me

till most of the breath was

strangled out,

then to hoist me out of the water,

just for a splice of a moment,

to give me your

“you should be so lucky” glint,

and to show your pretty painted-on face,

smirking at my tortured lungs,

hear your soft sultry lies

that I let you get away with,

then plunging me down again

into the icy waters

that did not forgive

or forget without blood sacrifices

to the gods of sadism.

I woke screaming

from that dream

that repeated on

my writhing veins.

Oh honey,

you cant spend your hours

saving those

dark mystery creatures,

they crave the cycle

of the death drive,

licking up the spilled blood

of the innocent,

dangerous in their actions

and quick to pour

cruel words on

my already bled and raw flesh

that only moistened to

the thought of light

and a world where

heaven was enacted on earth

instead of that glorification of violence.

I deserved better

than this abuse,

and deep down,

you felt it too.

Please,

just let me go,

oh hungry monster,

to drift down

the gentle currents,

Ophelia left to

her own devices.

I Knelt Down

I knelt down

in reverence

to the river,

tender kisses

on the curves

of her

ebbs and flows.

It was heartbreaking though,

to watch

bodies and spirits,

beat out

our own traumas

on each other’s bones,

patterns repeating

their virus glitches,

malicious verbage

and cruel bloodied marks,

profane hypocrites

reciting sacred odes

yet spitting sadistic

eulogies during

birthing rites.

Gasp.

Panic.

Couldn’t bare the sight of it,

no honey, Im sorry but Ive just already

wept so much today.

Mmm breath,

slow down now,

hush the rough,

halt the constant

proving of fancy fucking,

predictable games and

classes in cool

with their

tight-assed smiles,

sad-eyed

stupid smoker habits,

nodding heads at all the right shoes

and accessories,

laughing at bad jokes

that no one in the room even understands.

Instead my dear,

explore the sensuality

of each space

between single notes

in cut times

and quickened heartbeats,

pulses throbbing in sync,

soaking pussies,

erect nipples,

quick sighs,

sarcastic rhymes,

Kama Sutra salutations,

in graveyards,

over mountaintops,

between soft thighs,

lips supple and

waiting,

give rest

and sanctuary from the

world’s harsh turnings,

violent lashings out

of power

lust media

rapes,

wrath iron

goblets,

suckled pigs

of state and gold.

Enough.

They cease to rule

once you choose

to be free

of that drenched

machine

dripping poisoned

shaped nails,

greed faking happy,

lust faking love,

and oh how power means

fucking nothing but

a bad tagline wrapped in tinsel.

So I lifted up my

third eye high

and slept low

and in

heavy

pleasure

with the moon

moaning ecstasy

into the night,

then snuggled down deep

into the ocean,

re-learning to breathe.

Thunder

Through all the crazy,

the bullshit,

drama queens

in their giant machine

dreams,

my little brothers

taught me infinite

old soul wisdom,

far more than

all your harsh ramblings,

disguised,

albeit well,

as awakenings.

I see through you

to the other side.

I dare you,

stand in my dreams,

demented demons,

and just try it,

to tease me away

from my focus.

I shall not

leave here,

until cancer is washed out,

disease showing

a system malfunction,

spooky hallucinations,

brainwash drugs,

killer instincts,

drowning, in symptoms,

fear-mongers

hiding

in fields of poppies,

right there,

in broad fucking

daylight,

I can see you

Monster,

must exorcize you

out the body,

out the mind,

out the spirit.

We had enough

poisoned teacake

for now,

thanks.

Headed towards the

light,

my angels,

we are birthing

new cathartic rites and rights,

terrific transformations,

organic organizations,

righteous rebellions,

fight off the

fevered flies

festering at your skin,

our breath,

slows,

shaking loose

chains,

tearing down

prison walls,

together

we walk brethren

forward,

or not at all.

In the rain,

mixed with spices,

we

came down,

like thunder,

on the brilliant earth,

spines entangled,

magic moments

in which

lucid visions

lead the way

to revolution.

The graveyard bones

of our ancestors

rise

in holy places,

to fight as one

against the wrangled wraths

of this so-called

golden age, ha.

Bombs falling on

my babies,

I cried out,

why,

how could our

mothers bare it?

The sight

had me

curled up

on the attic floor

sobbing,

your blindness

astounds me to headaches

and nausea,

lusting guns breeding

nothing more than lusting guns,

violence from our hands

shook the rafters

of our brittle heaven, and

frightened the

weather into

patterns befitting

a madhouse,

what a mockery of the

heaven,

possible on earth, that

I saw through the eye of a needle,

found the morning after,

as I stirred my tea.

The serpent

opens

the one

red eye

he owns,

hunted down a

hurricane and raped

her for it,

he hisses

paranoia out

on the masses,

like a drunk fog.

Year after year,

history after bloodbath history,

we think we can

FIGHT off fear,

cut it down

with weapons and

gritty machines,

with ugly words to others,

nasty slurrings,

hanging good men,

to prove what?

That you could death-out

the piece of him that you

saw in the mirror,

the piece of you

that wouldn’t die, 

dont be absurd.

Point that gun in

my face,

and I outright laughed at the thought.

To think I would obey

such a silly act?

Power with metal and anger

is illusion, you fool,

cant threaten me with death

for we take tea every Thursday

and she speaks of her sorrows and

I hold her in her sleep,

while she screams and shivers,

oh what horrid visions must flit

through that lovely little head,

I know her well and

thus,

from your rage,

I am free. 

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. 

I Am Unknown

The sorrow,
ever swimming,
takes me down to the corner,
digs me a hole
to drown in.
The cancer's ever-taking
what it wants,
doesn't worry about
the soul within that's
ready to shine at any instant.

And those lovely wrathful
Wall Street Prophets,
their voices,
our voices,
finally being stamped on the ground
in protest,
being heard.

Though it still seems
violence and inhumanity reign
in the places of power,
the money jar
being the cookie jar
for the Select Few
and the human rights violations
in the streets of our downtown cities
and in the prisons nearby
are small prices to pay
for a corporate fucking agenda?
May no crooked corporate monster
debase our art and infinite creative power
again. Amen.

There's such risk
in gypsy training,
queering and healing,
must keep looking to the light,
even though the dark is thrust
upon us,
so heavy.
Giving and sometimes
not even getting the
teacups and saucers back at parties
you throw.
take and taken.

My God,
have we all become
such sinister danger animals?
The shadow grew into a cold
monster overnight,
as I lay,
staring into ethers.

Wonderland repeats herself:
I take blame only for the madness
of the Hatter,
the rest is syrup,
darkness and orgasms.
The vampires whisper
in my ear again,
I follow them down
that ugly dank hole
in the concrete,
Daniel and his lions,
me and my serpents,
wanting to shine on you,
one last time,
before I leave here.

I want a kinder tortured soul,
no more brutal battery
to my characters,
now and then,
as of late,
and even back when I remember
times being better.
My intuition doomed me
because damn it,
I knew better with
moon slowly crashing to earth
and my eyes growing sad
with your half-lies.
Just wanted a bit of fun really
with insane gestures,
new sex positions,
and obscure references
to propaganda and the media
mouth hungry machine,
eating away at our senses,
teething on our bones.

Didn't you know?
We are made through
fire and ice,
a wicked angel's alchemy.

The desert night
is calling us back,
to the ground,
the slurring rain
drenching my skin,
covering my wounds,
making me feel holy,
just for one magic moment,
breathing in,
letting it out,
a road towards
final freedom.
Follow me?