Sunday, December 26, 2010

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Monday, November 29, 2010

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Sunday, October 10, 2010

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Saturday, August 21, 2010

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

The Cypher of A Loss

Your wounded butter
dripping down an obscure turmeric thigh
as you contemplate murders,
costs the trespasser, his bi
polar nerve
the thought shifts and declines
your digestive tract
whimpering with the cruelty
of pure's lost purity
all is lost.
The loss
has been.
Always has been.

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Friday, August 13, 2010

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Friday, July 30, 2010


Weigh your hands against your breasts. Weigh them against your chin and know that. Know that they are empty. and imperfect in their worth. Like your scars and sexual heart. Your lonely heart is ugly. You look terrible when, hurt. Crying doesn't become you. Even shallow tears look prettier.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Young Light

Two pairs of moon eyes,and hands.With little disgrace.
Near the vicinity of the world, running displaced.
They're running across each other, touching barely.
Do you see?
Oh, do you see them? They're lovely.
Young light across the promenade racing past us,
Young light peeking through some neon disaster.
Young light, your youth is like a diamond garter
Oh young light,
Its like blood money, and dreams bartered.

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

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.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Wednesday, June 23, 2010


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.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

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
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

Friday, June 18, 2010

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?


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?


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.

Sunday, June 13, 2010


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.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Juliet Jewelery Box

I will never see. I will never feel. I will laugh about this when my heart isn’t beating. I will yearn for it when my heart isn’t beating. I want to sleep it away but where will I run? I will wake up again and I’ll wish it had never started. This hadn’t ever. I will think and wish and maul it away. Form my eyes. My ears that bleed with this voice. From my skin that is forever living in the limbo of a wound. Things heal and mend. But things leave scars. Then when I die, I’ll think of you maybe. When I’m walking, holding another hand, I will think why I saw your eyes. I will think about and feel all the longing of a meeting that never happened. I will think of every word and song and pain and sweetness of the whole damn rotting roses in a Juliet jewelry box. Somewhere in clever lines and vulnerable eyes and footsteps and fingers and paper and ink and water and madness and salt and blood that runs down, in reverse and gushes forth. I knew a boy once. A boy who would never sit on my bed with a book in his remembered hands and a lump of an anal girl between his knees with her head on his heart and incoherent mumbles to his blood and whispers through his shirt. Words to the song of his heart. Song to her words. Two pairs of sleepy feet curling into twin foot-shaped commas of foetal embrace on a quiet afternoon. When afternoons like hands, are remembered and are lovely and exist and live and breathe as a boy who I knew once, with a lump of a girl between his knees.

Lipgloss Facade

My skin is leased. Every inch and every second of every inch to a lipgloss facade.Obscene without it's sheen of processed liquid. Slow poison for slow smiles. The air that lovingly deposits its treasure of pregnant digress upon my skin. I wash it away with the see through poetry of moving water. As it dances like a naked sheet of catharsis on my minuscule craters of pores. My lungs, the biological apparatus of a living empire, their rise and fall unlike any political maneuver. Voluntary. Necessary. Automatic. They are leased too. Each breath and every second of every breath to a lipgloss facade.

A thread that does not bind, is my hair, left loose in the anti-thesis of its use. It is like every other accessory. Groomed for the best prices to endow itself in currencies of worship. The luminosity in my eyes and the enamel over my teeth.All will fade with the ending of this lease- that i have given to the universe in exchange for it's alchemist's gold. What worth does gold have for inches of skin and breath and luminous eyes and enameled teeth and non-binding hair? Not much as much as the lease itself. It carries the gold's weight upon it's atlas shoulders. Unto itself it manifests the exchanges. The lease wishes not to be undone. It wants every inch of every second of every inch to be a lipgloss facade.Obscene without it's sheen of processed liquid.

The Universe Never Lies

I will steal your books. Drink your lips and run away with the fire in your eyes. So much will splinter and be born again into a thousand tiny suns when two pictures break glass frames. Touch hands and what else. Ashes and water and blindness and reaching out. Everything is sudden and violent. Little footsteps are thrown away at the wind. Like caution. It will bring them back one day. We walk hand in hand. Through walls of brick and glass and time and bad internet and spaces of lost time. We will keep walking until the walls are real to touch and oblivion burns holes into the hands. Fear is a treacherous thing but. It will shuffle it's dirty arrows and cards of fortune into my shirt and maybe yours. Maybe. And then again hands will touch along walls of brick and glass and time and bad internet and spaces of lost time. Alone.Maybe....These shudders are yours to conceal and mine to show.Somewhere when we have lived for them. Or i have danced like a moon-swan. And you have seen too much of a hungry world. What else can i hide in these eyes? They are black-holes of dying stars and supernova smiles. Everything does end in it's beginning and begin with it's end.So will I. So will you.The universe never lies.

Kryptonite Heart

I'm alone.
I stand.
On the threshold of an epiphany.
With so many mouths to feed. My Kyrptonite heart that glows in the dark.I have killed so many sighs with my hungry hands.My salty soul is no more closer to Nirvana than when, it was in the womb.Pinched I have, so many eyes with their virgin stars. I stand alone. still. so alone. and all this liquid skin of blue and black with it's white snakes and whiplash foam. It will disappear like the tears on your face. Drop by mournful drop. It will cease to exist in this dream of soliloquy. So powerful, like the most accomplished of cowards' footsteps. Retreating. Inch by teasing inch, into the dankness, of my Acheronian square. My lone pedestal of onliest being.

Alone i stand here
holding your hand
a Kryptonite heart

Treadmill Inertia

There is a smell of burning tea leaves and 8:00 pm frustration now.The incense of innocence in the air, thickening with the ashes of a fleeting evening. A lazy bio-scope of stifled and conditioned breath. Whirring. With organic reels of nerves and blood and flesh and protoplasm. A constant shifting of it's anti-pendulum body in impossible lines to break. Small and big clusters of attentions spans, shifting in an odd square-tiled walk of absurd patterns. So much is seen and heard. Nothing registered. And suddenly you wonder where else you have been running. Where else indeed.

Cosmic Washing Machine endless spiral.denial.treachery.karma.
when does what end? Parallel universes.Parallel lines. Perpendicular bodies.never ending smiles. bad touches. good slaps. cold winters. hot days. moon obsession. friendship.lie. many. death. birth. rebirth. hating. hiding. penance. mountain tall. shallow hearts. unhurt. undone. lock. unlock. unzip. knots. opening. blooming. contracting. expanding. shiver. smile. lip. creep. eep. No. Sigh. Come back. Walking.away.reverse.rehearse.God.No god. man'sland.crawling.crawling. hero. human. animal.mother.goddess. earth. rust. orange. amber. fire lit eyes. hearths. warmth. sleep. echo.tear jewel. silences. crippling hearts. paper. hands. broken. change. up. down. body. skin. shedding. fears. greatness. worship red. living. bodies.lump. water. colour. diary. heathen. kilts. ogle.ogres. lamp shade skirt.tiny marbles.heat.heat. black

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Shelters and lost pieces of regret. They are never coming back.Sisely springs and maulden stones, they are drowning in chores of haphazard misery and flower dunes and cataract moons. They are all vanishing under the ether of the earth slowly with whom? No one in particular you see. The bow-ties and red shoes they have a smear of age on them clinging and sticking like the Limanchi army. Leave it be, such eloquent notions of hard-boiled suicide.Where is it leading you haan? Nowhere is just beyond the pass. Turn left and straight towards the dead end and bang your head on the shiny wall thing. Such tsk tsk. Such plainness in your body and mind! Some people have everything and I'm so desolate. There you go again ranting in self pity and misery and hiding those dark thoughts of yours. Where are you hiding them eh? Come out come out wherever you are, you stupid Narscul. Hunted down since years of abject debauchery. Is it yet? No no. Shutupwhatcrapdimsums and fish intestines are lovely. You don't know the blithe of delicacies. Such warm dredge down the throat of wisdom and scientific nuisance. Such bull shittery. No no, distillery is a different thing. With wings and such of cockatoos. And fire and red and gray of the Pegasus horse painted with your grandmother's hair.She looked like vitriol poured down a transparent jar of honey bees. Yes she is a dancer of leopard jowls. She is.

The Awakening

Awakened after the destruction of the love temple.I am a harlot. A charlatan. I am a beggar seeking refuge under the alms of your outstretched body. So frivolous yet cunningly benevolent. Windmills of your vagabond poison will damage the threads of my soul in peace. A destruction so sweet and so shameless. It will occur on the day of the chameleon moon and phoenix sun. And this pagan surrender will cease to be fleshed and blooded. Like a brittle page of prophecy upon gypsy lips. Skirts of wonderment and finger nailed hands with the murder of dreams upon their brow. I'm waiting.To crumble within the opera of black lidded inner asylums.Some souls never heal.They wear skeletons of feeling.

Saturday, May 8, 2010


Leaving behind a parched desert throat of saliva pearls, the smell of a pregnant cloud is heady. Squelchy shoes will mark the footprints along home. A lovely homecoming indeed.

Friday, May 7, 2010


bodies grow old
and love molds
and fires get cold

Saturday, May 1, 2010


A taste of rust on my lips.
It's too late for the fever to stop.
Let me fade away slowly
Before i come back for the last drop.

Friday, April 30, 2010


There lurks darkness in the loveliest of eyes
and the guilest of toes
your breath, turns all the rancid aches into the
pit-fire of madness' trench.
Your mouth, the lovely dark burst of
flesh in the lines of a lip
is a place to bury the salt from my
time with the vultures of rest.
your godhood, mortgaged for two words in the
abyss of my mind
your ashes, while you live,
scatted upon the infiltrating needles
of love unearthed

Wednesday, April 28, 2010


Hurt me before it's too late.
Hurt me before i wear bedsheets of sanity in my knotted hair.
A pin prick of life and feeling.
A pin prick of fire and Romeos.
Walk away before the carousel stops.
Walk away before i run for you.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Coffins And Cream

And i see coffins and cream and a melancholic dream.
I see you in your skin and you have gone with the sin.
I see ribbons and bows and a whole lot of crows
sentinels and beggars in the same damn feathers
and they whisper their secrets to me.
and they whisper their secrets to me.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Thursday, March 18, 2010