Voices in the night
Of broken reality
Pulling me away
From sanity,
From sleep
Pushing me deeper in the shadows
Of the trembling branches
That scratch my mind
With their shrunken claws
That shine with the blood
Of another lonely
Unsanctified moon.
Should
get at least
one bad tattoo,
eat Nikkei,
learn a chord on
a guitar and then
use that same chord
for at least twenty two
punk songs
and then hate punk,
realise that no strings
attached sex rarely
exists outside of
porn movies,
find love and
then lose it,
win at ping pong,
read Bukowski,
emulate Bukowski
and then redraft,
plant something
and watch it grow
before
they’re gone.
perusing the telephone
singles lines in the late nineties
listening to 20 second messages
a decade or more
before any dating apps existed
where pictures are seen
and locations are known beforehand
this was the Wild West
Russian roulette in a sense
a true gamble
you went by voice and actually
had to trust that the person
on the other end was who
they said they were
trust in humanity?
I know it sounds ridiculous
but I digress
I used to make actual
lists while talking to girls
as to why I shouldn’t be
talking to said girls
but sometimes against
my better judgement
or out of sheer desperation
I would want to meet occasionally
so after a little while on the phone
one night with a cute sounding girl
I got her address and headed her way
it was about a half hour drive
with vague directions
roughly a decade before
regular people had GPS
I was somewhat familiar
with the area so I had that
going for me
as I made the left down
the dirt road into a trailer park
I started to get that
‘what the fuck are you doing’ feeling
and when I pulled up to the dilapidated
mobile home I audibly said
“what the fuck am I doing?”
I soldiered on
I got out of my car and
walked toward this movable home
I passed piles of trash
dogs on chains
and a beat up
El Camino on blocks
I knocked on the door
and a dirty kid answered
I asked for whoever
and the dirty kid screamed out
whoever somebody’s here for you
as I peered through the door
numerous inbred looking faces
looked back at me
there must have been ten
people in that living room
finally she emerged
In all her glory
we locked eyes
and both gave a good
once over to each other
I was shocked
but the first thing she said to me was
“you are bigger than I thought you would be”
I was taken aback
and a little embarrassed
but totally confused at the same time
because as I eyed her I noticed
a well defined at least eighth month
pregnant belly on her
I took a step back and said
“well that makes two of us”
I laughed and cursed all the way home
the tapestries are half done on
the walls above the open kitchen.
there are potholes spotting the
tile floor at where the worn
wooden table sits and the bare
heels of a woman in a bathrobe
stands. we slowly pan up, framing
pasty legs sleeved in tape and clay.
her lips are wrist wiped, smeared
boisterous up her left cheek and
down across her cold purple breasts.
towering above the threshold of her
crown, we see an unshaven phallus
half erect, sprung between her legs.
eyelashes flash blue irises to spear
brightly among mediocre makeup and
fibers of false hair falling out. there
are polished toes, chipped red and
another naked body on the couch in
the next room.
this one is frail, wrangled to the soles
of the vintage furniture, grain gouged
to expose poor complexion and a
broken fever. there blooms a garden,
green and yellow from tongue; wallowed
in wiry roots. contagious sensitivity is
all that exists. the third alive, hangs from
ceiling fans on fire with smoke detectors
for eyes. the box television on the night
stand speaks static noise to ivory lizards.
In lights we are visible to the darker
sectors of a silhouetted branch of
man. Whirling rifts of smoke,
bail in bold grey like clouded chalk.
Pale masculinity mulled over in sequence
of the suspicious novelty blown up before
his beak and crooked cock; the white
denim love affair.
Unmarked boulevards gored bare a
valley of victims. The channeling
chasm led us here ahead of our
triangular transgressions barking badly.
Escorting the figure of smoke to waft
out, like spider on wire.
Spear the clout of wind to stalk the tender
variables of whining women spilling out
of open windows, manholes, and the mouth
of Osiris.
He who cannot be beat,
must be eaten by God.
twenty-five years
since one chapter
of my life faded
into the next one
the pay was better
but the hours fucking
sucked
a few too many nights
closing down bars
instead of clocking
in and eventually
the poet took over
now the creep is
hoping his winning
lottery ticket gets
pulled one of these
nights
pacing a small
room
broken down
television
and endless amounts
of shit scribbled on
page after page
this is what happens
when the smart kid
decides he doesn’t
want to make money
for someone else
We implode—
explode—
in raptures
of liquid light
that set the skin
to sizzle on the spit
like slow-cooked meat,
pulled apart
in greedy clutches,
peeling
skin from skin,
limb from limb,
sinew from bone
until all is gone,
fallen away
in shreds
and trickles.
Tongues prodding,
hungrily,
for the taste of coppery bliss
of chewed lips,
these beautiful bodies—
diminished
heartbeats and exhales
of viscera and vasculature
with eyelids, aflutter—
fade
into black, into white—
dick-teasing,
mind-fucking
strobes of abstract consciousness.
hand-in-hand,
together,
we die
little deaths,
again…
again…
and again—
every morning, a resurrection.
I’ve got holes in my skin
where feathers used to be
mind full of wisdom
full of verse
but she’s been cursed
it was a witch on a volcano top:
Gypsy warlock, new-age mage.
No coins, no water, just plastic
like all the other body parts
chowed down by ocean worms
microscopic danger-like premonitions
chewed up body parts and chipped faces
no lips and noses, eyes and ears,
holes, crevices, craggy forms,
plugged up feather holes
filled with a million dead rabbits
from a million false-bottom
top hats as only the ancient
chuckle onwards and clap
in sweet oblivious ignorance.
The wolves are at the door
I can hear them howl
Scratching at the floor
Mouths are sharp and foul
In here all alone
Just a skeleton in skin
Mere flesh upon the bone
I know they’re getting in
I’ll miss my loving daughter
And my understanding son
Thinking as I’m slaughtered
That the predators have won
No more will I hold you near
Your love dissolving hate
I shed my clothes, I shed my fear
And just accept my fate
The wolves have breached the barricades
The shit has hit the fan
My eyes are blood, all feeling fades
Turns out I’m just a man
I took three spells and split them with roses
spit take the outtake from this it reveals
the pains in the way I strain to avoid
the ideas that might make
your sperm take root
first swallow
the common sense that tastes
of salt and self sacrifice
money shot
the sticky and dry you rinse
at a sink and blink
to the moment
you didn’t let it in your ass
that pass was the slip into quim
and the moment you’re praying
for a nuclear arsenal
to erase any traces
of him
Horror Sleaze Trash 