october  2016




... if I let the first line belong to no one

not even to itself


thereafter an invasion begins

I mix ice-cream and blood


expletives and wish-bones

and watch as the celebrities begin to sparkle


I then allow the internet to caress my brain

to cushion and covet my sex


and I find my conscience scraped raw

then as I kneel and masturbate in silence


over my head

I find the world’s children slaughtered


I see the skies bleeding history

and the heavens draped with erotic, blockbuster ethics


acts even of vivacious genocide

and the cry of an immense, dark guilt takes my mind


my exhausted, evaporating mind

and the invasion is over...






...to wish or want

all these muted shadows of our existence


to release every solid word

that was ever uttered


and still declare for truth

is to seize only this life’s obscurity


for we are the audacious fools

who eat the earth


yet never see the incandescence

that once became our scent of sex


we think only with the sun’s thoughts

we speak only its dictated prose


breath for breath

tears for tears


our memories are just the echoes

of this star’s dazzling intercourse


we are its sensual arithmetic

its promiscuous conscience


zeros cloned from nothing

one tongue amidst billions


yelling shadows across space

the truth we seek muted


by our own wishful existence...






...why, every ten or so days

do I stand, arms wide


awaiting the arrival of this pathological mirage

the erudite cancer


that drags the world’s deep hurt

across my soul


the earth’s seeming joy

wounded beyond repair


or is it just me

frantically searching the debris


my lungs clogged with dust and dead flesh

for although I push hard at the skin


that masks eternity

hoping the munitions and clichés will go away


the pressure I feel returned

only sharpens the ruthless insignificance


that cuts into the mirage

and yet, yet I continue


to bite mouthfuls from the moon

my pathetic, fake sister


whose mask I have become

I am the red deserts of Mars


an anguish which desiccates language

arms wide, waiting, I stand


my ten-day soul like the earth

wounded beyond repair...






...why are the statue’s tears so old

the lips so bitter


and the rockface so set on mistrust

has the ancient starlight


stolen the rich madness of its mind

or has our digital waste-wonderland


seized the rich madness of ours

whatever it is


the statue is upon us

pushing stones and pins into our eyes


its prophesies clear to no one

its love destined to be a bloodless


spectacular feud between death and defiance

but here we stand


a column of salt

desperately texting the silence


our lips becoming impossible to kiss

cold, bitter and bloodless


our position hardening

and all the words for honesty


frozen to our faces

a tongue of bronze cast with suspicion...