Butcher

that heavy wet slap
of raw meat
against the concrete floor

thick blood
oozing over the edge
of the metal table

the split splat
of congealed
fluid striking
the drain cover

the knife makes
its work quick
sharp in the pale light
flashing above his head

ligament comes away
from bone
with a snap

bone cracks
as it is manipulated
and forced from the sockets

flesh hangs
in strips from the ceiling
red and lurid

like grotesque flags
signaling
a dead parade

now the cleaver
flashes up and down
chop chop chopping
at sinuous tendons
and fleshy mounds of muscle

bloody steaks
and pale fat
carefully ground meat
packaged all up for the freezer

brown paper hiding
those sliced and diced
bits of tasty corpulence

those meals
to future mouths
watering in anticipation

this flesh so strange
so buttery
so lithe and lean

dinner will be an event
of vigor and robustness
tasted upon the fatted tongue

he will pull your chair out for you
bow deeply at the waist
fill your glass with garnet wine
and on the meat of blackened paradise
you will dine

Born Wrong (Hillbilly)

I was born on the wrong side of the tracks
to the wrong sort of people
in that wrong countryside

our fertile feilds
only housed herds of wild black sheep
turning our souls over
to family absorbed from all points

a big white dog
chained in the front yard
barking at strangers

half a dozen junked trucks
up on the flattened road
the old trailers out back
wild roses enclosing the property

the house full of books
stacked in great big cases up to the ceiling

the tourists stopping to take pictures
on the long back road down to the ferry
asking why anyone would live like this

"but isn't that garden pretty!
oh how quaint!"

us silently pissed at every one of them
breaking the calm hot day
with their gawking
'we live here to get away from you fuckers'
we mumble out loud

an old rich man
looking in the door to say
"oh how cozy!"

to that small cabin
kept warm by my great grandmother's cookstove
and decorated with my grandmother's paintings

the ghost standing at the window
frowning at guests
my mom chasing trigger happy
American hunters from the 400 acres of grasslands and hills

"Can't you fuckin' read the 'NO HUNTING' signs!"

attentive dog close to her heals
letting out a loud bark
warning the bears to stay away

up in our fruit trees
stealing big fat pears
ripping the branches down

"Goddamn it!" my mother yelled
setting the dog on them

they say we were born wrong
no wealth
no health
no city streets
no shopping districts
no fast cars
no big buildings
no theatres
no banks
no convenience stores

only miles upon miles of land
treacherous in its beauty
stretching out to the horizon

the careful wind blowing down the valley
bring the heady scent of alfalfa blooms
and baking grass in the sunlight

only the constant rush of the creek by the house
clear water over coloured worn rocks
with green grass snakes fishing at the edge

fat crickets singing love songs
and orange-bummed bees buzzing
in my mom's catnip bush

we were born all wrong
we live all wrong
at just the right time
in just the right place
on ancestral homestead
down the slopes of this never ending country

curse your cities
curse your highways
curse your speed
and curse your inability to understand

the simple joy of fresh baked bread
and a fire in the camp pit
out back
starring at a million billion stars
stretching on the cusp of forever

Contagious

the days rupture their guts all over me
I smear my brains down the wall
big wet chunks sticking to the floor boards
this place is red like the inside of my liver
and there is neurosis growing like ground cover
up the walls
and past the rusty stains
they tried to paint it a cheery yellow
but it molted and turned to brass
peeling and cracking like fungal nails
an oozing sickness
full of puss and infection
seeping into the rotting carpet
living like gangrenous meat
on the edge of extiniction
the smell hits me first
rotting and bloated
flies spill forth like waves
tumble out of my mouth
writhe out of the holes
making homes in pools of flesh
raising their carnivorous families
to flood the world with their kin
the whole place splits
like a swelling wound
a boil, a carbuncle, a festering malignant sludge
where all humanity takes its vacations
the white crust around the lips
tells me where to hit first
seeping into the scenery
infecting the gentry
erupting past the pretty little ideas
in their pretty little dresses
turning everything that rotting green
streaked with blood
and spewed forth in chasms of vomit
on the edge of black, roiling oceans
Decay exudes her decree over the world
and flesh peels away
we are the virus of the Earth
a gutter in outer space
and I come to infest all I touch
Queen of Filth
to the seeping hordes
of plague dogs
roaming the countryside
decaying teeth is my smile
bile is my perfume
lie down with me in the rivers of blight
and we will infect the steaming mess of humanity
with our perfect pestilent syndrome in the sickening sky

Near Sighted Nebulas

how badly am I desolate
apocalyptic heart
in futile lands
searching for Apache Skin
he sees not
hears not
and waits for me
on the edge of my vision
I turn and he turns away
I came for skin
and some kind of love
but I tripped
on the rungs of reality
only on chemical waves
do I thrive
only on those days
when my eyes
roll all the way back
to the dawn of time
the dawn of nothing
alcoholic memoirs
crevice brain
those tunnels in vision
those fingers
poking holes
in my membranes
I saw it in my dreams
I know what he needs
I saw it in my nightmares
and ripped the head
from its many arms
all empty heart
come fill me up
come fill me with your sour seed
Apache Skin
come on home
where wildness grows
in thick thorny beds
up the side of my skull
come on home
and nestle down in these canyons
of flesh
I'm waiting
and I have swallowed the worlds
in my galaxy of eyes
just for your enjoyment

Morning Star

here is where
quiet monsters
come to settle

this will to darkness
and this will to understand it

at the end of dreams
these monsters of many arms
crooked faces
multiplicities of eyes

here is where
we stand
face to face

the abyss opening
and closing
like a mawing mouth

sucking us in
to those black stars
that black reach

big old holes
in the side of the universe
blinking back at us

unmoved
unmoving

unwilling

it stares us down
flattens choice
and providence

none will stoop down to save us
we are alone
as on a darkling plane

unwanted
and unwatched

God hated what he created
and abandoned the seat of heaven