~ PUNCTURE-WOMB ~
Creating pretty holes and lovely h
Making spaces for stained~glass pa
Now sunlit, with vistas of red, so
—My Womb with a view.

Liar.
My half-track eyes,
Spy;
A Liar.
A mind swept clear,

This mouth wide open,
trying to speak;
over our brute,
beating the weak.
Some convoluted feel,

I want to see the poppy rise, bloo
and be sacrificed
I want to make love to the liar, s
and multiply the wounds
I wish to strip her, degrade her

Anna Sleaze is diseased.
Like Typhoid Mary,
and fucked with ease.
Always with a “Please!”
And a “MORE, MORE!, MORE!!”

A devastating delay, In-direction
Wars throbbing erection.
On this acoustic world, the boots
In the mud, impressions of hijacke
Run, run, run... on blood-bound so

When I was just a kid
No more than thirteen
Decidedly I grabbed
A nightmares dream
With contemporary belief

Oral sex and cigarettes,
in threadbare kindled corsets.
Trading laces in a red lit bizarre
you mend your teddy with rusty wir
Are your goods morning market fres

I had a revelation.
I just can’t remember what it was.
But I’m almost sure it was lewd,
What can I do?
To bring it up might disgrace you.

The bulletproofing fucking failed!
I’m left now to face a face,
of nothing more than brittle shale
Content with my reflection,
I gaze at what you abhor.

These words left unsaid, keep our
and everyone one of them scored, r
~ The time spent without your care
and reciting a psalm out of tune;
gained it’s value the moment you l

Stray from tender infusion,
'cause docile doesn’t work.
Embrace the fasting revolution,
and prowl, where gluttony lurks.
Survival of the fittest,

Drag me down to the river,
to wash these stains away.
On it’s banks I cry,
and drown the pain of yesterday.

That was our Morning
Long ago, in love
Almost total
Almost perfect
So it’s there I stay

When the caffeine
turns to cigarettes and Meth-amphe
And the Amphetamines
turn to Cocaine sex and Heroin dr
And the PCP, and years of LSD

In the grace of a Holy Church bel
Chiming hungry latent tune
We grew impatient for it’s death k
Muted ringing now entombed.
Under guise and shrouded intellect

Show me;
Tell me.
Or is this a matter of being seen,
with the coming on of a little anx
Just show me;

Here it is again,
the time searched for and found;
when the curls unwind,
and the moment stands brief;
“To all time”.

to think
without eyes
or ears
the touch
or smell

Don’t you worry, Babe; it’s comin
It’s on it’s way; on the return.
That openness you shared with me;
Has been searing a brand,
On every thought I have of you.

Thoughts unravel
This road I travel
The end I cannot see
In turn and twist
My mind splits

I feel a surge creeping up behind
or maybe from inside me;
So surprise me.
I can only take so much,
before I crack a smile sweet;

I am Victory, within; You.
A balance of all things Pleasant,
And antagonistic to Dopamine pure
We Conjure; Then Conquer.
Our symbiotic Love-Hate fate,

She told me not to say it, that to
So I’ve addressed it here in writ
After having slipped my tongue
She seemed to listen for a moment
If only, to make it clear

She is,
My bread unbroken;
Left to mold.
An ever-thickening assault,
On this heart born free;

My memory bank leaves me filthy ri
even in that often thought of ditc
Loved ones so terrified of the sid
imagine me all dirty, choked, and
My tender

Breathe with the streets, the dark
A real life night crawling creep.
In the fresh hair, you find me the
and more...
planning out my killing floor.

Here comes the beggar!
With an Eden to share?
My god whats the point!?
When the commonality is despair?
I know there is a reckoning to com

Drive the dirtied splinter.
Lay it straight;
direct,
and deep into her face.
No ending.

You should worry, Babe;
I am coming.
I’m on my way;
On the Return.
That openness you shared with me,

I turn out my Flesh,
To turn on my Spirit;
The needs that come and go.
A Turnstile counting;
She’ll know it when she feels it,

Wait a second...
Are you saying the cock rose three

The look of shame, stress;
Hunger and fear,
I resist the urge to free a tear.
All I’ve preyed, caged;
Gathered and spilled...

Note the Look
Mark, the Time
The Thief; the Crook
Charades in pantomime
With little Hands passing

We are, by no means;
Dazzling, or that flawless strong
Of which our diamond-shine species
Could and thus should,
Long to be.

A marching band that radiates no v
A parade celebrating ancient whisp
Time in procession lifts the weigh
This 'All Together’ gathering
like a billion sparks thrown at on