Mortal Wound

Signs Everywhere?

You are my only ferocious hunger
The dismissal of my sanity –
My mortal wound
Lay me within the cool soil until I’m returned to the earth as those before –
Human form shifted, no longer a heart to suffer. Transformed…
Like ancient beings; I am severed from the fierce jagged ones that form the cliffs –
Spirits worn down by everyday sorrows into smooth round reflections. Stones of silence…
Sharp, lovely, ferocious armature falling away as time belittles, defies, destroys –
By sending its angry creatures
Deluded, raging things that hammer at all of Loves lovely confections –
Empty lovers disguised as vessels overflowing –
Luring, seducing in an effort to hoard the light
Infatuation with the dark now a dimension of their disease
Vehemently declaring that’s not their intention while killing all the pretty
Deconstructing spirit, tearing it apart, strips and pieces, strips and pieces…
Clawing at its innocence until it cries blood
Burning its pain, spitting on its determination
They dismiss, defile its sweet rituals that tether it to faith, trust, love
To replace those lovely tenderness’s with crude, fatal harm
This assault an unending, hollow apology that peels back layer upon layer of scabs

Until all wounds are eternal

Raging thing –
You are my only ferocious hunger
I’ve known you before existence drew its first breath
You gave me your eyes
Spoke my language – words painted on lonely pages in twisted, flowing script
Expressing the dark longings of your disenchanted, embittered soul
Lovely, poetic ramblings, tangled up in howling anguish
I thought that your maddened burning was for me
But that deranged fire, violent passion, lethal, smoky lust
Was not for me, but in spite of me
Blood on each page after reading, and – I thought meaning. Until I read between those bleeding lines…
To find that you’d bound my spirit with fiction, prose that swarmed and stung beneath my skin
A thousand stinging passages –
Backward translations shattering mirrors with the ferocity of their deflowered, naked truths
And the finality rains swift, time can’t temper this abrasive fracturing –
Your destructive force batters the soft womb of my soul
You bury my spirit where the murdered were abandoned
Where the flowers have no petals
And the sun casts no shadow
Every tomb nameless –
No sorrowful devotion, no remembrance carried through the ravages of eternity…
Beneath the luminosity of the suns light or the moons milky pool; Let some small force deny obscurity
Unlived, unbound, undone soul mates returning to fit in each others shadows, wounds, words
Souls sealed at the seams
Trials, tribulations melted into antiquity
Love wrought from pain during all seasons, reasons, separations
You are my only ferocious hunger
The dismissal of my sanity –
My mortal wound

The Sweetness Inside

Wonderous Wasteland

We are simple yet complex, beauteous creatures. We have the amazing ability to be fluid, ever-changing, a mishmash of light and dark, shallow and deep, forward and backward – backward and forward… We create our own illusions, demons, mysteries, highs, lows, riddles and answers. Ah, but don’t forget a most important piece of the human experience; What are the questions?


It rests there silently, patiently, no desire for grandeur
A moment you can’t hear
Can’t see, touch or taste
With anything other than your soul
A simplistic, unalterable certainty

I am the things that I hate

The watchful eyes of the Universe are wide with anticipation
Or hooded orbs of disenchantment, dusty, bereft of tears
Will I deny my truth and fix my fate? Steal its story?
Bury it among decrepit tombstones with nondescript epitaphs?
It’s too much… too real… too wounding…
Dissecting my heart with a dull scalpel
A coarse, jagged carving that blisters and burns
Lathered in toxicity of my own creation
Tethered to demons that sculpt my illusions –
I chain my foul renderings to my hemorrhaging wounds
Seeking light among suffering shadows that I feed with conflict
Damning those that damn me
I pull at threads that keep my skin together
Swallow disease that melts my bones –
My soul careens off course, pressed through my split flesh… mortal apertures
And still, I lust for denial, its sweet perfume, candied flavor
While mirrors collide, shattered shards shredding my black and white photograph
Scattering pieces of me into oblivion
The wind whispering dreadful philosophies that need eviction –
Conjuring a storm that brings chaotic allure
While time crashes down around me
I turn inside out to try and catch it
But my vessel has cracks where it falls through
Embolisms in my spirit bursting with dire ominous portrayal
Are like cataclysmic stars
Lovely sparkling harbingers crashing and burning for my sake
Shaking the human fallacies from my bones
The burdens of self deception wafting as the priest swings a thurible
And I am reflected in its metal cage; My being, my truth…

I am the things that I hate
And I am the things that I love

Light and dark dancing in a lovers rhythm
Sweet and sensuous, twisted and pure, wild and gentle, parched and satiated
Merging contradictions of brutal bliss or devastation
A divine knowing that rambles through time and my soul
Gracing my desert, my sky, my moonscape, my wildness, my starkness, with a lovely splendor…
My offerings –
A juicy pandemonium


“And did you get what you wanted from this life, even so? I did. And what did you want? To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the earth.”

— Raymond Carver (Late Fragment)

Fierce Fluid Fathomless

On the verge
Coming through the black into the grey
Where the shadows place your memory among the tombstones –
Now I catch the severed Mourning
Rest it on my knees in wistful sweetness
Simmering in my veins, a longing that chokes my breath
Purging what almost was and what never will be
Demons roam through my sorrow, rampant with flowers of the dead
They litter my burdened mind with loves carcass
Bent and rusted, it stands on this sacred ground of all that’s lost
Torn from anguished blood-soaked fingers that wrote their adoration on your body
Tracing lines and curves, heat turning to fire that lit that midnight room
A spongy, torrid womb, overflowing with unapologetic, visceral, lustic desire
Birthing letters and verse into writings that welcomed the moon –
Stained it with affection that made eyes blush
My body exhausted from hemorrhaging words late into the lonely hours
That deliciously ruined the innocent – though they were warned not to sip –
The ravishment of eroticism provoked
Infested and drunken, their maddened pupils flaring with transformation – They hate what they seek
Haunted now, as I
Pores seeping distressed, melancholic rage, manifested from stolen devotion –
Since you ran into the shadows, turned left toward the dead
The wind swallowing my voice, begging for a rewrite of your torment
But sliding from your smudged pages in primitive, violent anguish… Sentiments
Were pointless in their disordered chaos, striped of their poetic allegories
And you were more concerned in communing with the dead… Intoxicated
With their cryptic allure, and their skulking, chalky bones –
They were biting off chunks of time, stealing my image, eating the truth of us
They wrapped you in their bony cages
Became your circle of infinity
As the trees rained blood, drowning my visions, decimating dreams – Ruining madness!…
Spitting our perfume on the slippery, blood-soaked ground
No good goodbye under this mortal moon
Kisses falling through the heavy air to land beneath the weeds
Crushed by the footfall of howling specters as they tore you from my eyes
Ripped me from your soul –
Broke their wings, before the crows could scavenge any pain
Discontent the only arms waiting for my miseries
I hide in this midnight room, seeking our smoky aroma between sheets, and in corners
Exorcising letters and verse in an attempt to kill the pain in my love
Penning anguished sufferings in an effort to lure the demons –
Come, take these bitter renderings so I can weep
Come, take this vile torment so I can sleep
The murder of my soul lends a madness to my words that would amuse you
But this solitary languishing is brutally unfair Leave me to nothingness, ashes or dust, not… this…
When your shadow is cast upon these walls
There is no comfort here, no small joy in your apparition
Only a wincing ache, deep within my breast as I try to peel you from my skin
A savage bondage…
My eternal consuming burden