Sulphur Fire

I am lying on my bed, face down. My hair is spread like a reluctant net of coarse silk. The smell of a recent bath lingers everywhere. Like the essence of watery perfume. My legs are angled like an entwine in waiting. my body is in a crushing embrace with the mattress. It feel soft and abrasive. I feel a lazy longing in my body. A sinuous and dull pull of wicked threads. So gentle and persistent. I imagine your elusive body. With it's acetone essence. Fleeting like a faint trace of thought. A white shirt. With small buttons on them. Your eyes, shut with the serenity of sleep and some kaleidoscope dream. I slowly enter my hand through your shirt and place it over your warm, alive skin. Not yet subjected to notions of suicide or death. violent or otherwise. Your cynical heart, beating steady drum beats to an atavistic song. Biological. Philosophical. Existentialist. But, i don't care about any of those labels.All i feel is the puckering of your sleepy skin, it's terrain of life that is mapped by my fingers, moving in lazy circles. If someone could intrude on my imaginary silhouette,you would look so ordinary, lying like a mortal shape of everyday living on my bed. But those ephemeral eyes won't see the the luster of possession that you have been embalmed in. The sheen of living and metamorphosis that that has covered your paper of a skin with a few intricate stains of recorded history. I entwine one leg with yours. Binding the warmth between our bodies into a gesture of affection. I place two fingers on your mouth and etch their shape on my finger tips. Slowly, i move like a thieving sprite to suckle on you jaw, giving it slow, fiery licks.A monogamous trail of kisses follows the curves of your collar bone. I want to sigh in the hollows of your body and nestle with sleepy eyes between your neck.such comfort and fire.These coils of sulphur longing and balms of soothing breath. Such elemental gifts within two bodies. Such elemental curses.

Darling

I'll smuggle your woes for a pack of crows. Darling.Diamonds wouldn't do you any good when you're stuck in snow. Ass-deep.

Break Up

break up
my little cookie of naphthalene balls
hide under the bed
your small little evaporating body in the big bad universe
here comes daddy
he will give me a good night kiss
and aunt Marjorie
she will ask him for one too
mommy dear
she breaks
her back
and the telephone too
every two weeks
and pills in her gin
her black mascara tears
her perfume and pearls
daddy's perfect smile
we're a trophy family of death
we live the perfect trophy life
the dog gets kicked
it's back is broken
the pastor preached
last summer
and buried it upwards anonymous
little black dress
and high heel pump shoes
Lipstick coloured crayons
and the language of violence
learned
unlearned
detached
and sold
to the neighbours too
sugar in his coffee
carrot juice for her plastic face
jam for my shoes
and milk mustache
dip your naphthalene in my acid belly
and turn me into the monster that is raw
unlike this little slut-faced-shy-virgin-mother-tramp-lover
mongrel of virtues that i am
inside the body of a woman
and child of curious mud-caked flowery wetness
and silk of knowledge
without the bending knees and thighs between legs
and mouth between tongues
and sores in young chest buds
familiarity of drool in boy, men eyes
monster of own-self and not a changeling
snake skinned and bear girthed
and human birthed
turpentine flower scented
bone hide to never be touched
or spoken or marred
be sucked into -atmosphere fanged weightlessness
but never cut of unwill
or be broken
and spread
like a newspaper centerfold
on the kitchen table

Homosexual Fishnet

Slips of tongue and pink stereotypes
so many little stars cast away to die
in a small tomb of shell-shocked invasion
curious cuisine of the senses
in the liberty of skull-flared paleness
and righteous maleness
you with your ideas of sacred femininity
you with your ideas of Eros and masculinity
don't touch me with your corrupted sodomy of the mind
In flesh and marrow of my scathing bones
left to die in this absinthe of evaporating sweat
each little love and lick of finger or pain
each little sprinkle of fire and rain
till summer moon end and winter tide rise
My little stockings of melancholy suffice
brooding breath and trembling brow
holding naked armpits
and the smell of a sow
closing and closeted moth balls of shame
sleeping little dust corpses rising again
methodically you sing me back to sleep now
no talking now
This chess board of love on my breast
this chess board
its a chess board
an imprint
of a homosexual fishnet

Desert Rose

Long live the queen of consumerism. What is in your eyes my love as i stroll on your waterfront, stinking of fish? The desert and the smell of sea in your hair. Such painful laughter in your eyes. Concrete bones in your body. Such dust in your breath.What bows have launched their street-light arrows to illuminate your death? Why do you cry my courtesan? My lovely concubine of dreams? Are you giving these hollow shells and shade in exchange? What is your price? What cloth and veil of trophy dishonour? You are in love with yourself and yet you will cease to exist in these arrogant confines. Your glass house smells of debauchery and sexual assault. Undressed, you have been, with eyes and rapists' hands. Touching you. Inch by inch. Touching you. Never there. You are never there. The hands are never there either, can never touch your hollow soul. Your necklace, it is precious and old. made of rusted wounds and metal. How lovely. Your crown, your glorious boulevard of artifice, when was it built? Ah you are young. Nubile in body and crone of non-existing soul.Why, why, why, do you cry my hungry courtesan? Dear concubine of dreams? What is it in your rusted blood that runs down your hired cheek like a whore's mascara?

Lost, Never Found

An alien in the desert. A tourist in the city. Misplaced? Displaced? With the collective neon glare form a thousand lamps of debt and oil money illuminating an ever churning laundromat of commercialism. Oil dripping like money, money dripping like oil.I'm frowning and being licked by these serpent flames of depletion. Inch by foreign exchange loss inch. Who cares.Everything is so glossy and polished.So unreal and plastic.Not plastic.A Glassy hide it is. Like porcelain dolls.Clean,organised, round circuited ones.This city is like a hooker in the night. Flashy.Tarty.Sexy.It has parking lot innards.A heart of capitalism and mortar veins, smooth and silent.I have seen T-shirts with longer history. Electric eyes. Desert in my finger nails.They have sold their soul for the next big car. Happiness is a warm gun? and Here i am, without you my stranger, dearer than blood. Under the sun. In the thick sultry wind. Sands of time and space are colliding everyday.Are vacuums made of distance?

Soulless

Your Edwardian furnaces
and Pikanese dogs
Your racist ignorance
and Papparazzi photogs
Your writer's shoe
and Romanian songs
Drab Bon Bons of nectar
and sweet dreams
Nothing is as it seems
See and cower
In fear
Of their Plutonic beams
See and lick feet
Of my arrogance and films
See me?
Do you see me?
I'm all mighty
I'm the tourist attraction
I'm stranger than fiction
I'm this new shiny thing
This civilaztion of corporate kings
I'm all mighty
Do you see?
Do you see me?

Frankenstien

Cutting, dripping, rising, scarring and scattered like divine passion spitting out of an untrained mouth.So glorious and profane, unearthed, unleashed, untamed, buried deep and plucked instantaneously to seep and rip and consume like a brilliant faceless opening of honour and rape.Ugly and wholesome and still beautiful.So beautiful. Beauty itself trickling through the nose, wrists and belly button.Armpits of nausea and headiness and the smell of your kiss on a wandering mouth.Treachery and honour and love, all in your touch of evanescence and eluding history of horror.Jades and rubies and pearls of whore houses and chandeliers reflected in your limpid eyes.Viral fever running along your aura and black blood in your flesh kingdom.Odour of decay and anti-septic screams in your teeth and tongue of pink depravity.Your old flesh and throbbing meat,mixed with the vegetable stare of faded pictures and people walking, animated like a gaping wound, contracting and expanding with bacterial health and life likeness.A pretty sight for vegetable soreness in the genitals and heart linked with zippers of rusted and closed nerves.

Bruises

When stars die. No one hears. Such a pretty sight. Such a pretty sight. Corrupted hearts and half bruise stains. Are an everyday sight. Who cares. Who cares. Don't cover my mouth. Turn and whisper. Another lie. Another lie.