Your Ear is Bleeding

the scar tissue had grown up over my lips
or maybe it was my cunt
either way he wouldn't listen to me
wouldn't listen to what I had to say
wouldn't list what I had to yell
just put his hands over his ears
clenched his legs and hummed

hummed a stupid tune
a stupid tone
a stupid tomb
for his cock to die in

I jammed my knees up against his ribs
sunk them in
bruised my way to something to say
snapped his head back
and still
all he would yell was
'la la la la la la'
at the top of his lungs

'I'm not listening!'
sing song singing
even as I pried his hands away
from the sides of his head
even as I pressed my breasts against
his now blackened purple ribs
in a display of violent caressing that I knew
had to hurt
'I'm still not listening!
La! La! LA!
Not listening! Not listening!
NOT LISTENING!'

that's when I punched him in the face
rattled his teeth around inside his mouth
twin rivers of blood gushing from his nostrils
suddenly stunned into silence
both eyes as big as dinner plates
tongue working but nothing coming out
his cock limp
his hands useless
at his side
his lips swelling 

I took a deep shuttering breath,
shored up my anger,
clenched my legs and said,
'I love you,
and I don't like it.
Now stop bleeding on my sheets
and get the fuck out of here.'

Christ Chuck, What Next?

all these beautiful broken boys
and not one of them named Christ

I would break fingers with hammers
if I thought it would do any good
but saints feel no pain

and hate you when you press against them

I should have sold my soul
in a buyer's market
but now it's dirty and useless
like an old condom

and pretty boys don't want it anyways

saints hate to get dirty
and I live in mud

who the fuck let
all those wispy eyelashed looks in here?
sleeping at my shoulder
caressing my breasts
and whispering in my ear
that they love me
but only under the right conditions

like heavy alcohol
and heavier drugs
maybe when they are deep inside you

possibly if I was drowning in the bath
or maybe falling from the sky
on fire
like a comet of whore-like intentions
and a great big fucking
ball of promises

that I was never going to keep

Charles Bukowski said,
"Find what you love and let it kill you."

but I don't think the crusty old fucker meant like this
achingly slowly
my brain on fire every night
my cunt throbbing
waiting

humped over like a toad
creeping in the night
to slip down some unsuspecting victim's throat
and squeeze the air out of their heart

fucking saints
and their saintly touch
and their saintly fucking ways
and their beautiful eyes
and flowing hair
and silken skin
and stupid fucking sympathies

fucking kill me and get it over with
love me to death
so I can get up
and get that glass of whiskey
I've been thirsting for like blood
I need a shower
and maybe a plasma transfusion
so I can linger with the ghost of your cock still inside me

and by the way
you can tell Christ
when you see him next
that I told him
he should come down here
to pound in his own goddamn nails

my hammer is broken
and I'm tired of crucifixion anyways

Honey-Eyed

it was a crippled candy cane promise at best
the idea blooming in my mind
seeping out the edges
over the side of the bed
into a syrupy puddle on the floor

your arms wrapped hard around me
daylight an unwanted dream
I thought my thoughts
pouring honey in my ears
attracting ants marching up the wall

two by two they come
two by two

my world is dripping
sugaring my thighs into a sticky froth
spreading like peanut butter
your fingers find the way home
and you lick your lips twice

give it long enough
and sap becomes amber
deep within the chambers of my hive heart
queen of bees decorated teeth
my candied dreams pressed up against your back

deep breaths come
two by two
by two by two

and I stop
breathing that is
the river in my dreams thick as molasses
dark, rising up under my eyes
tearing down my face like frosted nightmares

my voice rather sticky
I find your flaxen skin under my fingertips

and march them
two by two by two
up the side of you body
slide my hand over your ribs
rest upon the flats of your belly
sticky fingers
sticky ideas

I close my eyes
thick in love
and you slip out the end of the sheets
sick of candy
pressing ants under your thumb
swatting bees from your eyes

and two by two
by a whole horde of fucking twos
I slip back down under a river of molasses
this wicked thing to do
opening my mouth
full of the blackest sugar
and scream

Lucifer In My Kitchen

dear Lucifer
tell them I love them
and when I close my eyes
I see them
and I smile a little
and I cry a little
and I dream up
a big black sky
telling my self
great big black lies
and little red truths

Lucifer, o' dear Lucifer
tell them I think of them
I took them home with me
I spoke them
to secret places
and I loved them
darkly and perfectly
for just a little while

Lucifer, my sweet Lucifer
save my kisses for them
tell them where
I am hidden
tell them to come
and find me
before I set this place
on fire
and fall asleep in the flames

Lucifer, my black king,
tell them
I was looking for them
and I will wait
until miracles light the skies
all red
and I finally
find my way home
to that dark kingdom
in the wilds

Quick Skin

curl your fingers around those green eyes
you cannibal man
eat me

I am not home
even when you found me here
tossing bottles out the window
and telling you to be quiet
so as to leave the neighbors
undisturbed

they are disturbed enough already

our minds plush
flushed like my thigh resting upon you
too white
too smooth
too much of what you want
fleeing into the night

peering out from under a curtain of hair
lips soft as moths
beating against the glass
the thrum in time to the vibration
where the world started
and I ended

you make choices
I make consessions
we make decisions
and you hate yourself in the morning

full banged on with a head clouded with stars
my mouth still lingering of your taste
your scent following me like a ghost
until I wash it from my skin
and skitter down the drain
to follow drowned goldfish
through the rusty pipes to the sea

we saw the same moon
said the same name
thought the same thought
and you feared me for it

you pushed me for it
slipped your fingers inside me for it
tasted me for it
nibbled little pieces of me for it
and spat me back out

yet you still
save my velvet name
until the next time
you are drunk
and the black night tells you
I don't want to be alone

Not Today

quick
rabbit heart
you beat too fast

i stood at the edge
watched you
slip out the door

quick
but smiling
dreamy eyed thing

fluttering
like a red bird
in my hand

i am not dead cells
tonight
not devouring

i am not fear
rest upon my lap
and find comfort

skin
milky and perfect
wreckless

breathing
fingers laced
in flowing hair

truth nearly there
quick
as the morning creeps

and i lay my head
down
and thought

someday
yes someday
but just not today

A Crooked Heart with a Crooked Door

the door to my heart
is soft and violent
and leans to the left
it's always slightly ajar
slamming loudly when the wind
whistles through my chest

if you hold my heart to your ear
you will hear the ocean
crashing onto distant shores
and the soft gurgling
of mountain streams
surrounded by over grown willow trees

opening my heart
reveals a wealth of coloured pebbles
and worn sea glass
little bits of broken shells
lined in wild rose thorns
stick to the sides
and cut your fingers

the meat tastes of peppermint
and wood smoke
traveling to a hole
in a clear limitless sky
with the dieing light of a thousand stars
stranded in the irises of my eyes

this heart feels like velvet
wrapped in crimson teeth
the colour of cat toes
slipping down the back fence
to that golden field
where the grasshoppers leaped
before my trodden feet

I close this door on you
cracked against the side of my pumping viens
this map to where I grew up
and where I ended up
you were knocking
rapping ever so gently
but you didn't really want in

you just wanted to toss
marbles in with my pebbles
rearrange my carefully shelved books
splash about in the brook
and break the branches off the willow trees
squashing crickets as you went
you wanted to cut down my fence
for firewood
and steal my cat
paint the door black
the crimson hue showing through
the sloppy brush strokes
and make a quilt
out of all that trailing velvet

the wind says I'm hollow
little droplets of garnet blood
stain the golden grass
as I go
the path before me
leading to the ocean
where I put my hands
in the mouths of sharks
and beautiful boys with soft lips
a careful lock now always
firmly placed upon
the weathered wood
of a badly painted tilting black door