light can be so grating
when you are used to close.eyed mumbling
stumbling over frayed edges of [after]life...
 
..and how did i end up in circles?
 
the mountain makes a sound, ominously
crumbles, or it should for me.
i cannot extend my apology further
than this treeline view;
and even with your sight, all
i can see from here is nothing.
 
can you take me somewhere, again?
 
such in.between belief gets me
nowhere; here are the blind
loving the forest despite the trees
[makes me fall to my knees]
and i never could swallow much indecision.. .
either right or left
behind with such as these.
peace gave her last call and chanced upon a dying
word.
 
could i borrow those iconoclastic halos?
 
doubling as a noose, tied loosely
around wrists, the gentle lashing of unpromises kept
keeps this line moving. .
tantric noise and boys with toys
baroquely seducing with claims of innocence shoved. . down
impaled through years, ears, and noses [no roses?]
where is the love?
nothing in their eyes, i see.. .
even less behind their backs;
a naked altar made of fleshy palpitations
and i used to live here among the rev.elations
[i think i did at least..
i have the scars to mark my tracks]
 
lets move on, i'm starving
 
..and they called these [wr]etchings painful?
with two faces, snapping and
grappling with starvation, such quivering husks could eat
my weight down to the bone.dry
and still cry of hunger.
scraping; a life against a plate
and adam's rib was never intended as innuendo;
keep the mouth closed,
despite the exposed coldflesh.wail. ..
this rain in veins never.never [l]ends itself to a cleansing.
and i'm shivering old.
 
now, where is that atlas?
 
i feel the weight, stoned as it is,
on the subconscious of the underworlds
and they push against eternity
[i certainly feel the pull]
and semicircular pity has come
full[y]
grinding heaviness turning
them into some maniacal chained.gang
heave-ho and blow the men
harder, harder,
harder
down.
 
but wait, i hear a river.
 
these aren't even creations wallowing;
swallowing such freakish grotesques,
i gave them back their full bellies
spitting and splitting
skulls, empty, sans thought
and life, and how they gurgle in their skin.
such is this sin
that it slows the [s]pace
of time, infinite
things with wings, stirring their fingers in a boiled pot
medusa.saught love, with her locks slants me a sideways wrath
and i reach for one who knows mine own,
but virgil tosses him back
and forth, we go.
 
what say you to the de[s]cent?
 
claiming and naming and blaming
all but one should be present here, for i am
surely charged with this yellowed sulphuric
colouring of the soul; i hear the message
clanging shut [my eyes as well]
not them, but me
not yours, but mine
and slick with guilt, the sepulchres openclose
like monsterjaws, gulping. ..
flamelicking sacrilege on a pilgrimage
around grace,
for not one i know needs a catechism,
not here,
not i.
 
my back itches, can you whip it please?
 
dip your hands in the bile, for a taste
blood.boiling waste of hate
can we cross here? [cross my fingers and hope to fly]
into blind hysteria,
dark as wind quietens the lost,
blowing their madness into submission;
this cannot be the tree of knowledge?
bark of human weakness and
a mess of broken limb.er spirits
and wrought.iron contortionists,
in hellish bliss, this fiery sand
and always this ochre pain, upon tongues
do you speak?
 
how much fa[r]ther?
 
so many evil pouches to pilfer,
lies; all lies
attracting flies [yours is open]
and the stench is velvet torture while the beasties play
rings around the rosies. we all fall
upside down in blackholes;
this one fits me perfectly... .
trying on one of these simonist roles,
and our path has caved in, a.head
backwards, into the bulkhead bulge again
this mobius unending in its
magic forecast, more dark reign
reign go away
i'm wet
and hot
and shamed.
 
you say we can't go back, but we always do.
 
myriad cloaks of many colours
disguises the slow.humming heaviness;
i carved this grating weariness.
you cannot see through my eyes and into them
trudging, [be]grudging the pretty names
of romans, who idly turned to idols, slow
i know, i know
i know these hands sin plainly
in open daylight, but that's not for you to draw
me in to this rotbox.
and the world sits dignified on her bed of nails. .
how nobly she screams
with her serpents as thieves,
good little acolytes
slither to hither and split faith in two;
one face is as good as another.
i cannot see my genuflection
in the east or the west,
so i'm squinting, blind. at the ruin[ed.n]ation
of this kind,
man.
 
suddenly, i feel so cold...
 
how many mouths
does it take to feed the devil?
there is no evil in hardness
and eternity here is freezing [scuttling sounds]
a.bound in a slayers keep
i am eye to lie.. with[out] my fate
slips on the ground, before the crunching of bones
and runes hurled at s.hades
for drummed up incantations
in rococo style; heil the stalactites
posing as swords, gored into
my brain. .. i've felt ice before
but never [oh, this is clever]
on my knees.
 
and rising to the front,
i fear dante has fainted
for i hear clanging brackish footfalls
and there is someone
who should [not] be behind me,
but is [not...again]. ..
 
and this light. ..
 
in my eyes. . .
 

.my eyes.. .
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

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