Drowning Days

You have that slow-drowning feeling to you.
I can feel your fingers around my ankles,
and you are pulling me down under perfectly calm blue-green waters.
Wrapping yourself around me like seaweed;
A slow wet hug squeezing the air out of my lungs.

You can breathe down here.
You can open your mouth and let the water flood in.
You live on the tiny microbes filling your belly.
Feed on their brief lives and snuff them out with your constant hunger.
Your eyes illuminate from the inside out so you can see in the darkest depths.
Your skin has turned to scales in these ebbing tides.

I, however, am drowning in your sweetness.
You are whispering "Ophelia" in my ear;
over and over and over again.
I can feel petticoats growing heavy around me;
these delicate chains of blue flowers twisting in my fingers.
I stare at the too clear sky and feel the water lapping at my cheeks.

"Ophelia... Ophelia...
He is crushing your heart;
pulling you down.
Can you not see his insanity,
bringing you to sandy ocean floors and rocky river bottoms?
Your body will flow over miles of sunken civilizations,
forever immortalized in sailors' hoarse-throated songs.
Ophelia... Ophelia...
You can not breathe water like air, girl..."

These ebbing tides that keep you alive with movement,
will eventually wash my body ashore.
My mouth full of pearls;
My eyes covered over in scales.
Your marshy touch will dress my body in cat-tails and swamp bugs;
Little brightly coloured fish will dart from my heart to my lungs.
Seabirds will nest in my hair in the filmy half light from deep unexplored pools.
I have become the shipwreck of your soul,
And those are pearls in my eyes.

Good night, sweet ladies.
Good night.
Good night.

A Precarious Situation

All the world waits,
humped over in silence.

The purring engine to the polemic mimicry,
of the universe doubts our existence.
We were never here,
and we argue over our importance.

The jungle breathes in the darkness,
caring not if we live or die.
Vegetation does not stop for instances of the mind;
It carries on eating up any rotting tissue in its way.

There is an eroticism to this rotting;
this disintegration of flesh, muscle, bone,
with the wet slipping of slimy bellied rats,
from one shore line to another.

"I did not think so many were undone."

Sitting on the river bank,
watching violet light seep into the ground water,
I ponder our undulations in the foreign lands,
eating up derivative elements of hard tasting candy.

The wind blows my hair to a moving crown,
and I wiggle my toes in the mud.

The jungle breathes;
Waits in silence for the world to end.
Waters lap at the shore of a timeless sea,
where pearls are little more than oceanic pebbles,
drifting into the eyes of dead sailors.

"Look! Those are pearls that were his eyes!"

The world waits;
Watching;
Breathless,
as the towers of ancient civilizations burn on the horizon,
with the shuttering rhythmic cry of over zealous demi-gods,
who undone so many.

The world holds it breath,
and the jungle shivers,
creeping over the long dead assimilations of an industrialized society.
Great machines of war mean nothing,
to the creeping vines,
and skittering beetles of the corpus genus,
who make their homes,
in burned out flesh.

In all of these wasted ironic mutations,
I lie naked,
watching the stars on a river bank,
dressed in the vestiges of a gluttonous race.

Each star winks at me with a pearl-like eye,
telling me the secrets of unused emotions,
vibrating from one existential relapse to another.

Each dead star brings me its light,
as a dim memory of another existence,
in a futile race to arms.

I slowly bury myself in the sexuality of mud,
like a cryogenic frog,
testing the limits of each wriggling limb,
and wait for the world to start all over again.

Lady Resurrection

I have you to thank for this,
for this empty room
where I have come and made my home

I remember thinking it looked comfortable
with these walls painted in blood and chocolate and late summer fruits
but I can't remember if I thought I wanted to spend my life here

Justice is useless, unneeded and impotent
but I have it nonetheless
retribution was in my teeth when I kissed you

You with an acidic mouth
a twisting disposition sure to twist away from me
totality swaying your head for me

Swaying, snake-like rhythm
our home in words
your page is mine and you know how to hurt me

The sound is closer now
the droning is filling up my head
I am kissing with all my teeth
and screaming with all my resurrection intact

I am the red queen
naked in your bed
a kingdom of crumpled sheets
at your feet
and my hair taking over the pillows

You stood in the corner
gently mouthing
'I made a mistake'

The mistake was made before you and I came here
and I have guarded it with all my armies
all my damned men still mine in God's eyes

I am a resurrection just for you
You called me Lady Returner
couldn't burn me out of the room
even when you turned your back
and hated me with all your heart

I can not see you
I never could
and the anger in me flew out
with great black wings
and shouted at the men below
until they clutched their heads
and crumpled to the ground

And what am I now but the vessel
the holy order of emptiness
marching into an angry dawn
with your name upon my lips
my feet pointed to oblivion
and my mind bent beyond the ever-loving tongue of God

A Textual Romance and a Passive Suicide

He plied me with words,
each more sweet than the last.
Every syllable tasted of pomegranate juice,
slipping down my chin and sticking to my lips.
My fingers were coated in the slickness of it;
I licked each digit,
savoring,
velvet tongue to softest skin.
Words like hands sliding over me,
into me,
through me.

He wrote me pages and pages of text;
miles of cursive verse,
extolling every little crevice of our twisting relationship.
The pages wrapped around me;
curling me in a blanket of intellectual dalliances.
His words slipped down my throat scratching all the way;
filling up my belly with swimming letters of jumbled importance.
I put my fingers down my throat and tossed them back up.

I stood in my kitchen with bottles of little words,
taking over the shelves like an invading army.
They spilled down the counters and puddled on the floor,
piling up in the corners, filling up the sink.
I searched through the clutter for milky jars of potent pills instead;
something to quiet the chittering,
and chattering,
of his textual romance,
in my swimming head.
I downed
onetwothreefourfive
and
onetwothreefourfive more;
Yes just like that.
Slid to the ground,
and cradled sentences of longing and love to my chest.
When those words turned bitter and the pomegranate turned to rot;
I poisoned myself in little ways with the love of a troubled man.

When I lie down,
close my eyes,
and commit my little passive suicide,
I sigh terribly;
because this never meant anything,
and words will never explain it.

Out Here She's Already Gone

my words
dipped in heat
and hesitation
come out
and spill down your neck
fevered
sticky
like my breath
all undone
and weak

but you have come here
for only one reason
need in your searching fingers
and open mouth
want shimmering down your limbs
slipping in and out of your mind
my face lost in the focus
of the moment
the skin
the sliding

sheets become landscapes
and words become useless
only breath and clutching
take up the air in here
i close my eyes
as you slip your hands into my hair
to hold me still
i seem to be vibrating in and out
of here
out of your urging
panting

'please stay here with me'

i am already gone
already fading
sighing down the wall
and onto the floor
my shadow finding the door
pulling me to the street below
in between the trees
and blackened out stars
like missing teeth
running jaggedly
outside among the towers
forever

you will feel better when I am gone
you just don't know it yet

Monstrous

Your skin
is eating my dreams
whole

Your teeth
like picket fences
bordering an infested world of unwanted images
of you
and your smiling
crooked at best
and always
moving

I
am a parting image
at the worst of times
with little meaning
embedded in your railroad righteousness
you have girls in your clutches
you want more
you want them bending
will and all to your needs
your textual sexuality

but you do not know
you are a ghost
an insect in the machine
you create a world you do not exist in
and write pages of uninteresting
extraneous language
for the joy
of little gods in uneven places

"I have the gun.
I am the superhero;
the anti-hero;
the man in the black coat;
I spit bullets,
and love hairless girls."
You are choking on importance,
visiting the earth under your thumb
crying at the injustice of it all
you reek of mortality
and birth nothing wanted

I, however,
am already swallowed by the Idea
I have come here
and I have laid down my life
for the right to the Idea
and I am one with the Word
and the Idea
and I am coming for you
to show you the way
to femininity and subservience
I will show you us
I will show you the token of being us
Our tokenism
Our words and works you choose not to read
and I will show you the way in a handful of flesh
because you are the Man
all importance and breeding
and you need direction more than I do

You are nothing without us
and I am coming for you
whether you like it or not