 
## Amethyst

### Maria Morisot

### Cover Art by Moan Lisa

### Published by Moan Lisa Press at Smashwords

### Public Domain

### http://maria.moanlisa.org

Last Night's purged breath carries on, and now I'm fragile; and mostly broken, I can

barely move; without my mind spinning into pain, it's death contrived in a sentence

a fragment of our holy life gone unfulfilled; the remains of an abomination's sin

Small fragments hold me over until bedtime; and even then the body closes up,

While you collect our daisies from the field of youth; and sour some, without

changing your due course; I smell their fragmented fragrance from the yard; and

without going further, I take my bow and plummet to the ground, but not for them;

For your great beauty, come back to me; I will not be sad for your departure

Any more, and when I was; it was a season's changing; the youth in my heart has

felt so thin of late, but there's a moment you could claim to reclaim it and

Make my peace whole; each word spoken and each word black will be for the grave;

When a ritualized perspective takes its hint of ivory sun among those already

spoken; she must do so in a cloud of death; so none will run, and they will

watch without eyes and touch her form; without fingers, and through this

Broken womb, there will be enough of death; for an hour, to call for her surrender.

And our descent begins, and the calling of the lights to midnight; as we make our

way through into the morning hours; let every muscle reclaim its throne of glory

as we speak into each other's ears; of the lessons and the revelations of our youth

So much talk of our rebellious nature; so much bleeding through the sheets

And when the night comes again, we'll be ready for the pyre; as witches always burn,

so through your song, and through the calling of the names of God; I will answer

and sustain my love's last remedy of truth, through the pages of our intellect

As they burn, and as they come again into the fossil's folding in of yesterday's

Redemptive heart; I'll lay like a dragon sleeping; and consume the bones of lovers

while you pass inward and onward through my skin, and pass over me; your heart ever

beating for my heart; and our stance as uncorrupted as a pure and filtered water

To tame me, and to drink of my blood; regain some purity in my soul

So many lost lives I've spent, searching for this mild perfection of form and shadow,

so much of my days has been spent longing for the dissolution of my skin; and now,

while the cock is ready, waiting to crow its last; I drive my needle through the skin

And bless the God of Heaven for His sentence; for this small bout of depth

Wandering wholly through a denial of infatuation; only to be locked within your call

I hear you even in the daylight beneath the trees; calling me home, into your heart,

where the wind won't blow and the tears will cease their falling.

And then to God I wrote a letter; scripted in my mind, through the lenses of a

sinful woman; pleading and denying myself for just a moment's breath; as I came

into the light of a resurrecting scar filled with pus and stitches, and rot

Who am I, beneath these sheets; stammering against my mind's edge, who am I,

Placed within this world without a hint of redemption to my name, I am the night

I am a facet of it; calling on the wind, and when the moon rise; there I am,

among my children and out against the chill hard rock of the cliff side

Back exposed with the sheets against my breasts; holding onto them lest I lose

My shadow; and there is sex, alive and within the shadows; and there is matrimony

high up on the winds, and there's a plane of ecstasy, buried deep within my

heart; waiting for the trumpeter to sing

And it's a song of the night, deep and hollow; like the ancients come out from

Their graves, and it is dark and pleasant to hear their voices chained up in my

memory; every stain becomes a din of truth; and while the silent night retains

its air of mystique; there is a wanderer; looking for me, in the mild mountain

Mist; she claims a piece of my heart, and I must surrender her the whole,

So with these shadows fully blossomed for the song; I catch the night's worth,

and wait for the second apparition to appear; the dream I had in sleep, the woman

with gentle eyes and the heart of God, who whispered in my ear.

Our democratic twist; the housing of our lives, a shelter from the pains of

being young and foolish; and so we take our lives, to battle and to heartache;

where there's at least a bit of pain; and we proceed within the boundaries

Of God's given graces; holy are those who take part in the bath of sins

Pouring out their unrighteousness against the brink of poverty, blessed are

they who purge themselves of their inaction; I take the right train to get

home, but home has nothing left but sore eyes and deflated youth;

What I need is adventure and love's request, blooming like the fields

In spring time; so many flowers and so much life; I need to carry on my back

the breath of a forgiving God, so much time has passed since I first left

my home in search of something grander; more complete, and here I am

At the brink of extinction, with a sentiment of youth's unbridled fury

Take me in against my will, and bind me up; bleed me and let the blood curdle;

there's too much sin buried within my veins, the death of inaction, cradled

Poison love is what I need, the toxic flame of lust burning inside of me,

And when we reach the motion of the stars, when we bury ourselves in flames,

I'll hold you in, beneath the waves of the sea; and we'll make our bed in the

ocean; against the tide's twists and turns; and we will see the sentiment

Of youth, exchanged with that of bleeding and of denied ecstatic charm.

We wash our bodies in the ocean at noon; coming up for air, I see your smiling face

and drown for a moment within the glare of your bright sun; and as the shadows leak

away beneath me, the smile's contagious wrap comes unfolded in my eyes;

And we are young here, and as the ocean bleeds; so does my heart, in the necessities

Of reconstruction, I can distance myself from your intoxication; but there's no

place to run from the smell of your youth's begetting eyes; those clear, calm stains

upon my skin; which disappear beneath our moon, I want to hold the candle's light

And let our alibi come pure; untainted, like a clear and Summer's breeze;

Fortune's faith, the gods collect our souls in baskets; before the Summer ends,

and when the wash lies dormant; when the sea constricts its body against the earth,

and there's no more time for bleeding; no more time to hold in our beloved sins,

Take the life from me, with its pure consciousness; hold me in against your will,

Estrange me from the capital of your country; we'll make a mockery of God,

and yet be saved somehow, if we can rearrange our purpose; and our life's blood;

Every sin which remains a hold against us; let them be purged; so that the symphony

of the stars can begin its final act; and place us on its shoulders, in the choir's

chair; And then; when we replace our boundary lines, and come into complaint beneath

The eye of God; we'll reason and repent, seize the hour as a lover's quest for stones.

Let's wrap this world in plastic, and take it home, we'll build a beautiful castle

in the sky; and drink the blood of each other's cuts and eat our flesh's fire

and save the rest for another day, another hour; in another time; we'll dress

In the finery of angels as we pursue our lust; and take down kingdoms

With the birth of our daughter, we'll dream a new illusion of the sun; and she

will rest within its cradling arms; and we will feed her the milk of our sacrificial

goat; and the honey of our passion, as we proclaim jurisdiction among the earth

Souls go down into Hell, but the rhythm of our love transcends; take a cup

And drink to the play of passion on the tongue, and I will drink my own boiling sin;

weathered by your beauty, as if to announce your coming among the satin sheets;

We digress, and we save the world another bout of irony; and for all our plagues,

there will be seasons to remember us by; and as we wane, as the bright light dims

between us, let there be no brighter future than what we have endured;

Let this simple love's digression remain among our memories; and in our hearts

So that fulfillment may be beautified; and that the remnants of our shadow linger.

What were you like, when you were just a child; and when the night came on you,

what hallucinations did your mind play, and was the water pleasant when you

submerged in sleep, because I can't remember my own youth; it's just a vague

Impression on the mind; a shallow sieve of heartache and pain; without

Anything tying it together, what of it now; and what will last of our dissolving

flight of fantasy; where will we wind up, when the curtains close; your eyes

tell truths I cannot see beyond; plain truths, but there is something hidden

In their shadows, and as I wait for you in my own shadow of redemption;

As I sing a lonely song into the night's abandon, and close my eyes to dream of you;

each breath seems as it were a spin of yarn around the skin; a pleasant structure

Wound without regret; and without the sorrows I have felt before, you take me

In your arms, and wind the whole of reality and wrap me in destructive skin;

and I take the feelings of this rebirth, an innocent rendition of our song;

So lightly as to reconsider youth's corruption; and I will take tonight,

Wrap it in the soul's entombment; and place myself in your arms, without regret.

You distance me with your sun

approaching midnight; and claim there's nothing new

to show you beneath the sky,

and I'm restless, and I don't complain

there's too much of starlight in your breath

and I can feel conception's understanding in your eyes,

although you don't show a care for anything mundane

your song in the surreal; in the motion of the earth

a steady flame with bursts of toxins

and we give birth to another sun,

and call his name Forgotten One

and as we shelter him in the silence of our death,

we brave the surrender with your passage.

Deep in the waters of your eyes,

I've captured form and taken reason's request;

and there's a swan, bleeding

the rest will be explained when I come up for breath

for now you'll softly swim within the algae

decide on our surrender to the gods;

how high should we wave the flag of morning's breath

and what body should we bathe within its light,

under duress, we claim our symphony of season's end

and sort out songs of our surrender

while your shaking body gives me new direction

and your lips hold in the answer

to this delightful song

The key.

Emotion overwhelms me

and this imbalance of our sin

cradles me, between hurt and anguish

and the perfume of your scent

stains the pages of the book

white ivory and black ink

next to a shadow of our recalled correction

time wears thin, and the night calls

you'll be gone soon

at the midnight hour

when everyone sleeps, you'll sleep

and dream of horses flying through a midnight sun

while I call your name, Wysteria

and hide myself from the serpent of the deep

you'll answer; but in dreams

hallucinations

and there's no thunder in your voice to calm my suffering

so I will cry, comfortless serenity; I'll leave the world

while you search for something new to tackle and gain control of.

We strive for the dimension's failure to arrive at the moment of our reconception;

and to place within, the frailty of youth; its weathered shine and its waxed reunion

of our sins; spilt in with the blood of our distress; I see you, even without your

Light recoiling through my eyes; your vision has been burned into my eye,

And as we walk; and as we free the fields of depths of song; I react as if you'd

touched me through the cloth; and as this clothing fades; as substance's white matter

tears apart, and as the urge closes in on us to dream a heavy form of frost

I like you, purring against my chest; I like the feel of your soft skin

Touching me, and I like the reasons for our misconceptions of truth; and our diminished

discussion of the boundary of good and evil; where it takes place, and where we lie

upon it; and the bath waters which rise to fill the gaps between the two

Localized drops of prism suns; the kind which form the worlds we have encountered;

Our eyes, blatantly recognized through the pains and sufferings they have seen,

in due course, I imagine you have left the wild eye wandering;

So to sin; and for to place an arm upon your hand, I dress the night in black.

The depths to which my love spills over, and into you; where your breasts lie still

and waiting for my breath to carry on; here I am, at the edge of my mind's bleeding;

spinning on and into some new form of insanity, there's too little time left for

Beating of the heart, although it beats loud enough; and when your eyes close,

Here I'll be, writing the infusion of a song; to carry you softly into sleep, but for now

let's try not to wake any dragons, or the children who carry on in their silent dreams;

We'll laugh loud enough when tomorrow's renaissance repeats, and the cradle awakens

So let's try to get a bit of rest; and see what comes when morning glows again,

it is the season for rebirth and for change, and you may change yet; and grow;

into some wild creature I haven't met before; and I may worry at the thought of

Loss, and of the skin's separation between us; but I'll let that pass through me,

As the ancient text says, there is life and sound eruptions of the glass; past

infinity's surrender, We'll make a mockery of the gods; and clean the essence

of our synonyms; for past and through this static field of ice;

One must raise the living from the dead's reception.

Your breasts, even more than your hands; both of which are perfect; touch me

but it's the gazing of your eyes that intrigues me most of all, what do they see

in me; what worth or value in my disarrayed remainder of a self;

Whole and unbroken parts of me; or the fragile forms, taken up with doubt

The irresponsible collection of impurities; what shadows fill my longings,

what ghosts complete my desirous eyes; what is it you see, that draws you in;

Is it the last fit of laughter which I brought on, or the seeming daze of

youth still fighting to be corrupted; how long will we sit here, and wonder

What life lies on the other side; this magic portal into other worlds;

As we descend the steps into the pages of each other's work; and rise to

represent the morning's call, and how we'll flee into the vastly corrupted sky

And we're depressed into silence, where we dream complete and utter lies

The distance sworn between us, has changed somewhat; while you lay stranded

in your bed and I within the artist's chamber; making friends with my denied

existence; there comes some citizen of our country, calling; and you lay still

While I discover the meaning of what beauty lies beneath your silken hood.

Without you in the pool, to wash away my sins and leave me innocent from this

corruptive filth I've spewed; without your face to look into, when the evening

rises in the west; without your answer when I call, there's too much love left

Within my heart; without there being anyone to give it to; so come.

Draw nearer yet; come. Let the depths of poison spill into our blood, and let

tomorrow's worries take care of themselves; we'll live for the day, and for the

hour; for life's array, the spoils of our shelter here, within this flask of night

And as the cave pulls us in towards its entrance; and as the hollow sound leaves

Violence in the air; we'll come about, unscathed by the blistering of stars;

we'll come about breathing the intoxicating air of silent matter; and we will thirst

for better days, while we make love within the orchard of God.

Seven sons and thirteen daughters; and we will pray there be repentance in our youth

A distant time, and the settling of our scars beneath the moon; I walk in time as

backwards, through your years; as you grow older yet, and see time devour all your days;

And when the stars reach their peak within the sky; and as our dinner is set among them,

we'll take place at the table with a cup of ecstasy in each hand; and bow down before

the Lord; and quiet the angels as they sleep; tonight in dreams, we will awaken God.

What's new within your eyes, as they shine so deeply from the fields of grey;

and I purse my lips because of it, and I flock beside you; testing the waters

of our resuscitation; will we ever sound the same again as we did last night,

When the thought of you receding failed to arouse my interest; and when you

Startled me awake this morning, and I found in you the perfect representation

of the muse; to capture all my deepest sorrows and purge my body of its blood,

The soul lies empty, without your touch; and without you in my waking thoughts

I drift slowly into sleep, where even then I find your form, in the symbolic

world of words; to press in close and hold me tightly as I dream; love is

idyllic in all its phrases, and come the corporeal song; it charms

And in your youthful prism, I see the angels flying with their wings unfolded

And the thought of you lying there; beneath the dirt; when death has dusted

off your doorstep, doesn't bother me; for some strange reason it is the purpose

which you've left that keeps me treading here, in ice-cold water;

In the slow conception of the sun.

The exposition of our love, as passed down through the unconscious mind,

through the purgatory of our dreams; through the hollow fields of ivy,

as we set sail for new horizons and are birthed beneath a distant star;

You and I may yet walk through the valley of the flesh and bone;

And as we take our measure, will be held up against the indecision of our

fears; to reconstruct the fantasy we both have born; and into the pages

scratched with dark black ink, our blessings and our curse

I want to overshadow you in the bed; and overpower you with my form

And substance; hanging on by threads in hopes of devouring your pleasant

body, and take into me your mind; the broken remains of it, to shelter

Deposit your remains in a jar; and keep it safe, for cradling at night

To hold the bitter substance of your form; I'll make us a bed, and we'll

lie like angels in its stead; and cry the night through; over empty dreams,

And substance passes through, unaltered; into the silence of a world gone

dead, and as we gain the simplicity of our better half of weary arms,

We'll wander through the destruction of our home.

We're high on shadows, as the dust rises and the wind swells in the east;

too much completion of our path works its way into the strain of leverage,

and one may ask the question why; as if the thought were purged

But never in the end may we rest solely on the sun; and each redemptive call

Works our hands into the soil, where it belongs; one false passage, one redeeming

quality of youth; as we collide with angels, and abide within the truth;

suffering's become a plague, and as the winds grow easy; we can distance ourselves

From each other's pyre; and open up our hands, and let the offering fall

Too constricted of a call for freedom to ring clear; slavery's bell a token of

our gradual decay; and men lie easy on the backs of those who came before, and drink

the offering which we had soured in our pits; too much drunkenness;

So as the call for envy shifts the galaxy's stars; and as your letting go could

Shift the water's resting place; we'll hold the edges of our home, and place a window

at the corner of our room; so we might see the northern lights as they set fire

to the earth, and disobey; and disbelieve the cornerstone's quietness

As we make death an offering fit for kings; the splice has bit the sea.

In our descent, and in the passage through time's boundaries; where claims to

God and heightened awareness are cut short; and the enthralling victory of love

takes too many moments to contemplate, before the tide lets in its flow

Caution to you, my dearest darling; before the water falls, before the saplings

Turn black with the stain of death; and an angel appeared to me and said,

come here; take this bitter herb and eat, it is my body; and the howling wind

became a place of refuge; and my mind burst open like a splintered flask of wine,

Duty calls us here, to gather in the waves of a redundant mind;

And as we go, the waves crash heavily on the shore; even so my mind wanders;

to the feasting place where God had resurrected all the dead and gave them hosts;

So now, is the deliverance of youth embodied, even as the young gather together

Frozen spats of time; hurried shores being washed away by the lapping of the waves;

another plane crashed into the beach side; into the foul tide's laughter,

and as we go on; as we sustain the chord of calling, there is another light beating

Of wings; and the raven caws, it falls down to the earth and drowns in the river;

White crests where it lands, and the severed head bleeds; while we wait, another bird

comes and falls; and yet another; soon it is a flood of death, rising on the ocean's

tide; and we call out, "stop," but no one hears us; only laughter emerges from the depths.

What beauty lies in youth, and in the innocence's purge there comes a moment

of relief; two lies, tied in tandem against a body that's been quickened for

destruction; two level curves, bought through the beauty of her eyes;

So parallel a construction, so simple a plan to be obstructed through its

Denial of her body; only winds will take me to her home, and only the shadow

can keep me from feeling this utter loneliness; I shy away, restricted in my

form, while two shadows play their thoughts upon the pedestal's encasement

Darkness in the constructive act, and white light's destruction with the fury

Of God's compliment; strewn down from Heaven's shelter, how complete the eyes see;

and how complete the dream becomes when we are shadows, lingering on in fate's

resolve; two heightened beasts laid low; and the catapult's flight

Blessed are they who come; in the name of God, for His beleaguered sins

May be strewn upon us; oh, heavenly Father; you take away our sins and reconstruct

our lives in accordance with Your will, and as we feast the decay sets in;

and we sing praises, and curse God; and every knight who sits claims a piece

The body, your body; which was given up for my conception; and we made love

Within the shadows of a broken glass, our hour has come and we will watch the world

burning from our perspectives; and we'll see Heaven and Earth collide in a great

masterpiece of destruction; and we'll sing to God our praise; holy, holy, holy

Destroyer of worlds.

There is a cloud hanging in the yard, deathly green with a broken picture

of my youth, and it hangs there; softly swollen until it bursts with pride;

and my mouth droops; and salivates, and I cannot contain this simplified

Surreal and picturesque expression of my idiocy;

My ill-containment and my wish to be both young and foolish; for the spell

of our generation's gap, so it may bleed my blood with the others' and spill

my death into its ground; And I will carry on with my appointment,

To go beneath the slippery slopes of the unconscious mind, and to dive.

Too far beneath the ocean's surface; too far dead to see the top of the earth;

and once we've passed through childhood's pleasures; and beyond, what good is it

to transform ourselves into the semblance of a lie; there's only one place

To plant this seed of knowledge; within the encasement of one's heart

Plant and liquify; not with the spirit of truth or of love; but with persistence,

age and beauty; the forrested corruptions of the night, we'll seize the pasture

and bury the men who tend it; and when the dawn comes, and all of God's soldiers

Come to fight; they'll see us wearing straight masks; and simple clothes,

and gardening; and they will see our works and let us go.

Then the doorman will ring; and we will pay with our own lives, as Satan's fury

has been unleashed; and the rest of the world laid waste with his instruction,

Corporeal reality turned black and white film; with the shades of red bled over.

They bleed, the skin is perforated

and its construction flawed, yet we breathe

and carry the momentum of our loss

schooling into silence, it's the last cave of our report

and wrestled to the ground

sweet, corrupted youth; transpired

fixated on for a cause, and needles pierce

each spot of sensitivity

oceans alert us of the dangers of drowning,

while we plunge ourselves beneath the sea; some future wave

rolls over us, compounding our distrust in the humanity of God

two legs left for walking back through time

and a silent and lazy eye; held in for remembrance

of what transpired.

This slice of death's insinuation; as we climb the parapet, into the stars and beyond

one small and bleeding moment of the birth of a child; while we gather in the wood

for our sacrificial fire, and all is well in the seven heavens; and all the earth

Sings the song of grace, and willingness to bow before the plane of ashes;

And to set flames to its firstborn young, while as we drown in the cradle of our death's

renaissance, where dungeons await us with chains; and the willingness to surrender

To faith; to beauty and the rest, I come with you; to the hour of the divided self

Resting on a bed of thorns, no hearing left within me; just the stuttering of an aged

woman, dressed in wild fire; dressed in blood and tears, so much of travesty and of

rebellion's song; and so much innocence lost; we can await the thirst of our death

As it purges all the senses in a bout of blood and ash; and then the milk swells in

The lungs, a toxic breath; a drowning song, the gurgle of a love's last bastion; played

out against the bleeding of our drums, laid down for us in iron chains

Before the head of Satan has been gifted sight and hearing, before the last long prayer

And prophecy come to light.

In the light of your eyes, I find the candle burning brightly; and as much as I would

see you walk in tandem in my life, there is a slight constriction to our union; there

is a void which hangs between us and doesn't let the sunlight bleed through

Enter into our world beyond death, and beyond the distinction of the flesh

And here, we've reconstructed our desire; here we plainly see the isle of our youth

as it was intended to be born; and without fear, we walk the shallow waters of our

death, in the comforting of angel's breath; without a hint of death to swallow us

Beneath the breeze of God; we find ourselves dancing on the winds, devoid of our

Considerations and replacement of the still waters; we can breathe and we can hold

each other's forms; in the likeness which was good for us, in the stories of our books;

and we'll send pages of the burned books to Heaven, and grasp onto our religious

Nature, as we purge our stain of sin; even as we float among the bricks and mortar

We'll purchase a slight necessity of gold; and into dreams, we'll flow; and into the cusp

of a new direction; unto God, and unto our deliverance. But as the darkness comes;

we'll find ourselves facing the deliberation of our soul's true journey

And sealed with a kiss; we'll read the pages of our fortune, as we slowly fade away

into the dusk.

Clearly, in the denial of our love; and of our ecstasy's transmission, placed among

the stars; and as your bright light of innocence retains its certain form, I place

you in my quarters; and in my bed. And we'll make strings of angels to cover the walls

And place for you a trumpet in the window sill; we'll wash your feet in holy water,

And abandon all hope, as you recede into the darkness which has called us both; there is

no strain of purity in this world; while all lay incomplete and formless before bed,

there is a southward presence calling us tonight; it is the sound of the hollowed dead

So take my hand, child; and become something more than purity's awakening,

Breathe in the dust of death, and I will do the same; there is a toxic flow, receding

into our lungs; into our bodies; and as we drink, as we sustain our pleasant death,

Nothing in the world was ever so luscious as your lips are now;

And I place my head within your hands, and sleep; bathe in the intoxication of youth;

and cradle my heart within your bone structure; within your chest cavity; I place my wound

Seeking the adventure of a succinct and total lack of purity; a rebellion against the gods;

While I wind up what is left of death, and let it fly; and let these words carry me,

into the western lands, where I will seek my future among the buried souls.

We sell our souls for the transparency of youth's desires; without accordance,

without the complete frustration of our own internalized reflections; without

death's dormant phrase, lingering on the tongue; and as I pass into you,

Without regret, I take you higher than you've ever been; and dash you into shards

When you've come; when all the world has emptied its restrictions, and when we bathe

within the waters of our lust; passion says of this frustration's emptiness; too much

blood has been shed for the corners of these sheets; and we will pass on into glass

And through the morning's bleeding edge; and see the knife's blade cut through us

The hours grow thin, and the body weakens, as a flame near death; and is it love,

which has transpired; is it love which captivates the heart and lets the body grow

weak, too much makes you sicken; so take leave, and love another for a spell

Or let it grip you unto death, and let the world tumble beneath your feet,

And take shelter in the heart's pain as it burns; only fire can keep you here;

and only the distant flames will hear the heart's pattern; as it burns up the body,

Leaving the soul to play its filthy games; of heartache, despair; and death.

Tied to the inconvenience of our truths, our destinies entwined with the skin

of demons; there's so much of shadow and of flame involved in the epistemology

of our unguided journey; and so when the angels come and bring us hell to

Bathe in, isn't it the only way to travel; to gaze in upon one's self

And succumb to the sins which linger far beneath the skin, what sunlight rises

in the east has broken the pronunciation of a vowel; and breath resides in your

longing, what passion plays; lets loose the inner demons from the surface

Of an interior night, to spawn with the clarity of a serene prescription

We swallow death in a pill.

And as we taste the fluid substance breaking through and out onto the tongue,

there's a cold recognition that all things are how they were defined; and that

there is a God; and He will judge us according to our works,

Let the cold blood flow, and let us tolerate our skin's redeeming qualities,

and let the cold winter blast set up for us a piece of snow; to carry forth

Into death's beyond.

We weren't designed for this; for our prescription to be filled, and for

the penalty of night to turn down its hand upon our heads; and seize the

company head, for carrying off the dead into the shadows of the underworld;

These two lights settle as the dusk rises, these two foul and empty forms

Gather in the consequence of our exposure to the sun; our melody charged and

ready, waiting to become undone; so the shadows speak, so slowly in anticipation

they swarm; two lovers in heat; waiting for the essence of the warmth

To carry on their shoulders what remains of death, of sweet serenity;

Could you pass through the shadow and find your place among the golden spires;

could you disrupt the wind, and leave me here; hollering for the death's

betrayal to the sun; all lives go into descent; and are channeled into youth's

Boundary, consumed by the harsh, delicious gusts of wind; all flesh subsumed

And each and every stable version of this concrete wall is made obscured

through the visions of old men, and dead lovers; entwined in semblance to

God's filthy betrayal of man; and the substance of our youth decays,

Leaving only a trace of our last memory's remains.

In this sea of formlessness, within these iron bonds, I change the lock

severing the flesh, and painting it anew; there's a static flow surrounding me,

And I will see the end of it, before my days have passed into the whole of death

One woman born through unnatural means; the gravitation of this pull

Attracts; and death has decided for her a name, not my own; to carve into her grave

Maria, born of ashes and of flame; the toxic diary, rehearsed for a fortnight;

And into this schism, she will pour her pain; and be delivered unto the shadows

Of dreams; Maria, to call into the night for her desperate cry of youth and enjoyment;

the suffering she has endured, and the plain night's air she has suffocated within,

Paint the world red, and in shadows read the book of her descent

Cradling the ashes of the fallen, and crying for her newborn child's broken heart;

she'll paint the world red, with her blood; and enter in a sea of red before her end.

In our decision gate; locked away with the logic of the ancients, I rest a while;

burning with the passion of the gods, while you seize the rolls of scripture,

and I contemplate the structure of your skin; as passed down through generations

This vacant plastic glare you give; and the restitution of your smile, settling in

The reenactment of the dawn, as pressed flat on the page; the caravan of travelers,

sentenced with a wild-eyed wanderlust and for burning books; I recollect my own wages;

and size up the shelter that was made (for me and for my own rebellion) to drive home

Canopy in the wind, canopy rising above the storm; let the world see your flight

And there is too much pain in this beloved retribution, too many holidays spent sitting

by the wayside; not letting the demons in to play; without the stench of toxic gas

But as we watch the shadows, grow and corrupt; seek the formless night as through

an earshot; and then to place its branches, the branches of the oldest tree of God

Upon the altar; and burn them all, under the guise of heavenly ascent of flesh

And when they burn, what then; an avenue of saints is placed in the center of downtown;

and great parades will come to fill it out with glory; and God will ride through;

With his Ford convertible, while everyone watches on in pure amazement; waiting for

The candy; I'll be waiting for the candy to roll.

The heavenly ascent to our gates has been corrupted by all the anger, and the paling

of the flesh; time's constraints hold back our tears while the energy of love has

languished; during this time, there's been weathering of youth and a storm of ease

Passing through, and while we walk through the galaxy on fire; and dip our heads

Into the pool of lost and forgotten dress, I meant to tell you that I love you,

that all the things which have passed were merely to remind me what beauty you've

become; and all things fade, and all things come unto a rest

Bleeding out, into the pools of time; all things are become a quietude of unrest

And as the anger flows; so does love, into the basin; show me now your naked flesh,

exposed to the eyes; and I will give you laughter for a compliment, not the foul

and unforgiving kind; but laughter's purest form, a rising of the blood to the head

To treat this malady and disappointing glare we've left upon each other's mind

And we'll make amends, and break this shallow hold; to dream what can become of our

encampment, to make a holiday of flesh's ecstasy and break the bread and drink our

wine in perfect union; to let the scabs heal and the dangers of the deep dissolve

Right now, between the dithered arms of sleep and the highlight of our wakeful hours

Rest, and bleed; we'll make a stew to simmer in the remainder of our youth.

What the silence comes to; what remains after the birth of this foreseen star;

and when the gold holds us in; when the risen star points out our names among

the book of the survivors, who can say there's anything but youth's arrangement

Keeping us from the distinction of the stars; let's gather in below her name

And envy, and adorn her with caterpillar wheels, each cloud of smoke retained in

her vast bosom; and each sentence placed word by word as she surveils the rising

of the sun; there's so much in a name, love; I'll tell you more about mine

I am the earth, I am the lover come undone; the chime and the bell post, crying

And whenever anyone passes through my gate; I take collaged pieces of them for my

requirement, and they will stand; some for years, and some for less than an hour

To be holden to this assemblage of my dream, to carry out my fantasy, and for mirth's

Inquisitive stone; to bleed. Each hour pressed into the darkness; and each drop of

poison sent into your veins; will be a welcome sign, for those who enter here come

Of their own free will; to sacrifice themselves for meaning and interpretation through art.

Through smoke and silence, we capture the essence of ourselves; trapped in chains

and the rhythm of the heart as it beats slowly and constantly each other's names;

For hours spent in solitude, this is the last gasp of our required frame of mind

And a bleeding purge of what we may contain within our souls, there's a settling

of mud and of desire's framework here; and the mystery of ages springs forth from

our remains; there is a cold death waiting in the Spring; and Summer's pinnacle

Wherein we fall, headlong into Autumn's regress; into the parasitic stew of silence

One more name, written in the stars; and one more length pursued, and in falling arms

we grasp the cold, dead bodies of each other's forms; lengthening our indecision

and our pain; when no more death will rise, when the formlessness of light

Consumes our souls; and we are finally at peace with one another, burning brightly

Here we will remain within each other's grip; and here, the life-long struggle

will destroy us both in a chaos born of wind and flame.

Thanked for sudden fortune; for the blessings of the night which pass into day,

for swift return of vengeance on the wicked; and for the valuable commodity of

ice in this land of fire, ashes and death; so soaked with the promises of life's

Return; and bleeding with the thoughts of insanity's purge; amendment to my mind's

Ill at ease suffering; sacrifice to the gods of the underworld, and the plague's

conception in our times; I want to be rid of my institution's voice; to carry on

the song, as it was done through many times before; to close up and collect the

Ruins of the night, and reconstruct the pages of these burned books;

Shelter me as I plan my revolutionary tract; we can combine our planes of thought

into a new existence, where the dogs won't bite; and where humanity's slaves are

those of intellect, and of the mind; and the body will thirst for brevity

If I could twist reality's construction; I'd hold you first within the palm of my

hand; and make you plainly see that our love's resurrection could be cold, and

tiresome; and even so we would resuscitate, and breathe into it form and beauty;

And after the walls collapsed, and blood spilt; we'd have enough to drink to carry on.

The vault of the gods, where we place our purchased souls; and in memory of their

enslavement, we will pass a test of love; our violent death, contained within a pill;

for the ease of passing into new horizons; where we shall place ourselves side by side

For an epiphany of reason, and a splitting of the mind's rested company

Two grains of salt, dusted off the counter top; two lice on your scalp, one for my

entertainment; and the other a resting point for dreams, a small measure of enslavement

to carry on our symphony and into the stars, we ring and we arise

For the company of our delight, and our purge; spent on beauty's sun

While the rhythm of the heart contains my loneliness; my desperate plunge into death;

two rings, held out at arm's length; one for you and one for the wife I've left,

to carry on in passage the death of our son; and bury him in the plot beneath the ocean

Time will take away our sins, and grant us peace in our days; life will consume

The better parts of us; and while we lie, waiting in a bed of ashes and cinders;

the meadow melts the mire, and the capital state of being shifts the seasons,

while death takes us into the pure tokens of breath and life everlasting; to sit

Upon the throne of God, and see the world unfold; to watch, through eyes of a child

The better part of humanity decay, and drive itself into the ground; there is no hope

for the children of the earth when there is no compassion left to save them; no death

will take us under to betray the lifeless head of an unknown God.

The place we span; our space in the continuum of time, which we hold steady;

our unbiased footprint sunken into the threads of reality, our folded skin

as it corrupts the remainder of our death's conception; our bleeding into

The pools of life; our emptied selves, restless as we are for our endurance

Through the passage; and as I watch you bloom, as you become the company of

life's rehearsed connection between me and what lies after; the distance grows

Plainly as the eye can see, it turns a steady hand and falters; and the fall

Plays heavily on my heart, and in your absence; in this blessed frame of sentiment

dissolved, I peel the token reminder of your story; of your glory, of your skin

As it erupts into the framework of my unsettled dreams; so it is, and so it has

Always been; you taint me with your beauty, and the stains sit heavy on the skin;

and through my light collapse, through this death of endless destruction placed

within me; I burn for your child placed within my womb; and for the night to come

So settle in, lover; and make this one complaint to God, that we be steady

In our state of innocence and despair; that all the lights burn for how long they

will last, and that the purge of death's remnant flood us quickly in the end.

With the force of our instructions left bare, and the cool breeze of a light summer day

bent on with howling frost and trees barren of any clothing from the still silent blast

of winter; youth's betrayal becomes a definite response to our unlocking the doors to

Heaven's gate; and the slow reconstruction of our past, through mediocre minds

Pleasantly shaping our history through their reunion of our sense; all the leaves have

migrated into past seasons, sentencing us all to death, with the cut and conviction

of their roots; slaves sing on about their cholera and their conjectures based in blood

Every evening comes the unlocked door to Satan's realm; each journey pressed with a single stone

The journeyman comes; and the interlopers digress, when all has lost its balance and none

can hold us up; there is a fleeting moment of regret, of sin; of death, and one man's claim

of life can be another's torment in eternity; so hold on to the precious stones of truth

Their lacking knowledge of the sun, their birthed calamity comes truer than the death of God

And as the forerunner to this sentence of destruction knows; only God is vindicated;

through love or through despair; or both, and there is some semblance ot truth in our

recognition of one another's tears; and blood, we'll paint the walls red

And leave enough for bathing; and leave enough for soaking our skin into, so we may

be blessed children of God; purified through blood, and through the everlasting dominion

of the stars; fortune may ring, and the air of the saints may blossom; but we'll

Remain untainted and purified through each other's sacrifice of love.

You come past the refusal of my birth; through the many pages left to you of

dissonant reminders of our form; the bath in beauty's surreal depiction and

the necessary sight we have foretold of youth's divide; cradle me here,

And place a firmament of Heaven's resemblance on the shelf for my perusal;

God's gift to humanity, and the stain of sin, bleeding through the symbols

on the page; our dissonant reminder of what is left of innocence in this broken

skin, two taps; and the symbols flare to life

One is breathing the foul concoction of a plaintiff's death

While the other presses inwards and upwards against the courage of another's sin;

poor choices for the fury of God to remember us by, mild sentences born with the

grace of mathematics and poetry combined; and the future holds more worries

More intense signification on a crowded street, with men bathing in the oil

Of purgatory's sacrilege; too hard the flames burn; too broad, they overcompensate

for bringing pestilence among the broken pieces of the dead.

The century's complaint; rolled up in steel, and bent; across the shadows of a

dissonant and corrupted field of grey; and as we walk, hand in hand below the bridge;

as we migrate west into the dead lands, I take my drink from your cup

Instilling youth's semblance into my veins; and burying a slight discomfort,

There they are, the steel swords; bent and misshapen, holy words of truth unveiled;

and the mysteries of God dissolved into the valley of the dead, each pose of our

regression, and each landmark of our sins conceal this truth; that nothing lasts

Even the remainder of God has been foretold as one who breaks and bends

With reality's deconstruction through time; even God has the semblance of one dead;

and as the fire grows, as He commands it, even so there is a boiling stain unearthed,

the sentence of our conjecture and of our sanity; transformed through the hint of nature's

Resolve; the bent and uninterrupted scathing of the midnight owls; "hoo, hoo,"

Dusting off the remnants of my resolve, I hang the canopy over my head and cry your name;

on the wind, when no one answers; and none receive me, dust-to-dust and ashes to the ground;

We'll recall the distance between each other; when the grass consumes the soil;

and everything is as it should be, painted through the destiny's remainder of your face.

When she could contain my life within her breast, I held her in my hand and savored

every moment of our youth; recaptured, in the intimacy of her breath, I dove headlong

into death; and nothing would suffice for me save to end it all and be nearer to her

But then, in an instant; in an hour, she came; unfurled her flesh and bled

And I had no words or sentiment to express, it was the perfect timing for our love's

dissolution; the perfect breath and to become undone so easily through this unveiling

of the skin's solution, hard pressed against my own skin; this pure death

The division and remainder of our life's wise journey through the stars;

And every hand held a complete dripping of our laughter, and each trumpet cry gave

rebirth to the rejoinder of our lives, and as we swam through the mire; it's cold

and lifeless mess, we gained a bit of altitude

While the sea grew warm and thin, we laughed at death; we laughed at her abandonment

Of life's purchase; and through our gazing eyes, we dreamed of other worlds, more vacant

than our own; and how we would populate them with children; how we would end the vacancy

And set the world on fire with burning youth; of how we'd trumpet through the fields

With the song of God; and scream for death's abolition, and in this sea of ecstasy and

rebirth; we would carry on with the intimacy of saints, rolling through the fire as one

with the energy of a young child; and burning down the forest in our stead,

And planting new life on a bed of green and silk.

Our journey to the underworld, in complete disguise and watching one another for the

turn; the foul corruption of the flesh, as it burns; the slow step down into the furnace,

where I can see your body melt like wax; there's too much heat here; passion's sentence

So while you dream of bitter worlds, remembered on a whim of fantasy; I tell a secret

You speak of disharmony and injunction; the bitter breath of turmoil and the saints'

carousal ; there's too little daring left for dreams, and not enough smoke left in

the bath for pleas of disunion, we mantle the breasts of your youth upon the place;

There is a slow death waiting to come aboard; the kind for kings and queens to dissolve in

My death could bring the resurrection of us all; if only in script and broken shards of

fiction, the thread lies bare; and your breasts exposed to the light; while my eyes call

for the vicinity of your stay, to express the power of your voice in severed flesh,

Some whimsical reminder that youth is but a charm, bleeding on the backs of wisdom,

Through the gate, the demons howl; and interrupt the voices of men and goats; we call,

but the wise ones say, "hush," children should not enter pacts with the evil one;

It is the right of any woman, child, beast; or man, but not tonight; not while

The plague burns, and the city sleeps.

The semblance of our existence; as the clock strikes three, and all the world erupts

in a sea of chaos, so much of our lives has been spent and wasted on little things

to keep up preoccupied unto death; so when death comes, like a storm, we will be wasted

And wanting for the seas to close us up within their boundaries; and seal us into

The former state of being; to be transposed and captured; boarded and sealed shut;

within the dreams we've likened to be our own existence; feeling comes in waves,

emotion is a stagnant sea exposed to the elements; drifting violently, and completely

Blessed are the Storm Lords, for they shall inherit the earth; and make it a barren wasteland

and blessed is the name of God; who holds our children beneath the ocean's sea foam;

drowning them with great delight in an epitaph of death and ill deceit, He moves mountains

And while we sit upon our hands and plea for our restructuring; for life's breath to be

filled again, and the holy angels to deliver us from plague; each dressed element of earth

bound up with a name given from God unto His disciples; so they may plant the seeds

Of heaven into the earth's ground; and see a bed of ivy grow,

So we may see the lights dance upon the waters, so we may watch the morning's dew catch

the sun within its prismatic lens; so we may see the hand of God reaching over the sky

To make a bow up in the clouds; and then the death of one destructive twister fall.

I'm melting

with no hope of finding grace in this lost world

within your skin's soft tones, and echoes

within the contours of your eyes;

save me before I fall completely

in love

and let this end come cleanly,

don't bother finding me a way or a will

to carry on,

let the cool winds blow through me;

before the night comes

and the vultures show their wings

and the death of my shadow

surround me; with its flame

So reserved

sitting here

without the ability for touch

what movement would be born

if we could feel

each other's skin

could plant our lips

and sink our teeth into each other's wounds

The touch of your flesh; as purely fantasized among the crossroads of our births,

we linger in silent song; waiting for the retrieval of our youths to come about,

watching idly the days grow cold and bitter, purchasing for ourselves a bath in blood

A lesson for the servant's sword to sing; the blessed ivory and the cradle's wake

To sleep, within our dreams to reason; and bring about the flood of change we've always

dreamed would cover us, to deny ourselves the cup of wine as we carry out the plaintiff's

slow surrender; for the cause is grey and hasn't had the time to bury its young

Forest trees will shelter us, and the blossoms will dance within the fields of ivy;

Best, it's best we seek an answer which may have chance to come about; to play idly

dancing with the winds in the meadow; and as fortune supersedes our disconnected palace

White windows bleed red fumes, and the grey wash consumes the whole apartment

We are ready for the destitution of our days; the collapse of the kingdom, and the perks

drawn up in blood; our ink lays heavy on the parchment, and it corrupts the paper;

with its marks, and with its raw speech; its ornamentation, and the slow ring of sin

Shouldn't there be a place like Heaven here, to draw out the sins of our extraction

Wise men know, there is a fool living in the pages of this pressed rebellious text;

and when they come; when the whole world watches as the kingdom of God collapses in its

final purging death; there will be a moment of silence to pursue the placement of our

Infrastructure.

What held us under held us fast; and we became the surgeon's daughters; while through the

looking glass, I saw my name stitched upon my skin; so many regrets have come to pass;

in each hour of the dayspring; and as they roll off the tongue, one by one;

Each pressing need; each urgent hour that I come to you, take off your dress and bathe

With me in the salted waters of the sea, it's here that we will find relief from God's

injustice, and here in the bowls of men too dark to dream, that we'll find faith in

our redemption through this bit of skin and tape; rolled up for the first sin's awakening

So send us off on a journey to touch the stars; with our bare hands, with our mouths;

Like lions in a spread of heated sand, we'll mock the gods exactly where we stand; and put

our feet in the holes of our corruption, to stay our sins' execution call; to keep the hand

of God at bay, for an hour; for a year; for a day, exactly how long it will take us to repent

Busy ourselves with the fire; and with the ashes of our feet, we'll make merry

Dust and coffins, dry ice and a sprinkling of salted water, for our thirst; to dress our tongues

and make amends with the vicinity of death; two things come to mind, your love and my regrets

Past the water's line, and past our own dimension; we will raise our hearing and our ears

For one man's coming and another man's going; through the mire, before the offspring come;

through pages of our text, and through fire; let them burn, let the pages of the covenant burn.

The creativity of your caress upon my skin; the soft petals you've placed within my heart

and the steel, cold; hard thrashing steel that causes dissonance and pain within me,

Easy, love; let the strain end, and swallow up what's left of my sins

Drown yourself in the bitter yeast which burns going down; and place yourself in a cauldron,

ready for the sensual desire's purge, our minds have melted into a sea of glass, for

clarification; there's only one system to unmask, that of youth and beauty; and betrayal

Come, tie up what is left of our repetitive sins; cut loose the slacking nerves and lessen

The degree of our unconscious soul; we'll let the dewdrop fall, and drink its scattered

poison; in degrees, we'll paint the walls ivory with a hint of blood, to lessen our longing

for escape; and while we may relax a moment, there will be hardships to consider;

So take me warmly, and wet; and recognize this place for what it is

Distance is not a divider; it is not a divisor for who we are or what will come of us;

it is the past and the present which part our worlds, it is time; diluted and mistaken

for the absolute measure; the manner in which we take a cup and pour it out upon our life

So drink with me, and we will clear our consciousness; and we will be each other's bride

And we'll speak less of days and numbers, hours; distances, and let the cool water flow

within our veins; take me up and carry me to bed, and place me in the center, next to you

And there we'll seize the hourglass, and shatter it; to let the sand drop down into our blood.

In this chaos of our relationship, when all things bonded have been broken; and while

the world turns upside down with you within my grip; sentence fragments spill like blood

and the deaf ear begins to listen to the words once spoken in the dark room;

My kiss, and your surrender; my startling and your anticipation, my mood

And the depths to which you long for me; shorn up against the clock, time's capital

dressed in wedding gowns; two brides' lofty lingerie, the seasoned capture of our

commandment's heavy birth; two tears cried in tandem at the renouncement of youth

Its deprecation, and the sign that something larger than this hour should come

Two lives left restlessly wandering the earth; seeking solace, seeking revenge and

the portrayal of a God dipped in abstinence, four horns and the bridal fury of our

suture; I wouldn't call you an enemy of the state just yet; cornered and confessed

You've dredged up every word you would repeat through the cage bars; and though your

Prism lies under the earth, one can see the face of God shed through it; through

the enlightenment of the stars; and so when the sieve of Eratosthenes corrupts your mind,

And when the whole world watches you calculate the meaning of God; be warned,

There is not enough time on this earth for pleasing God and men alike.

We contain within ourselves the journey work of the stars, and as you form your

own opinion of our worth; let me interject again, how long a time it's been

to taste your love upon my skin; and how long I've been waiting to steal you

From the house upon the hill; bright lights in the attic, and a dark deep

Basement to keep our sins buried under; so let me into your home, and give me

a key into your heart; that I may come, and go at my will; and I will come

As frequently as I can; and oftener, to seize a momentary glimpse of you

When the night pedals on, and the day streams light into our shadow world,

and the evening corrupts our flesh in tones they never would have had;

So do I, part the waves and let the light within your home; to carry on

This conversation's part; in two parts, so that there may be a harmony of words

to flicker like light upon the skin; and as your skin lightens; so I may see

your beauty, and tell the world your story; as if in a dreamed reality

Spacious contours and the clothes hang restless on the rack; pleading for you

to take them on and give them life again; and I will watch the movements

of your cloth and fur; I'll pass into regression of sin as I watch with intensity

And you'll pass on and into death, while I've already passed; and there will be

Motion in the stars, calling out our names within the night's air.

Under the guise of a false reality, claiming our hearts and our minds through noncomittal

changes; our force as it is, set in stone; while your eyes bleed the paint of restoration's

systematic change; I feel the once and only time of youth's untimely death both realized

And lost to the abandonment of stars; both can come in the glory of the heavens; both can

Wheel away the distance from our posts; and should we fall, or fail to grip onto the edge

of life's entreaty; so will it be as it is; a night for the forgotten lust of our beginnings

Twice now, I stand head and foot beside myself; against all laws of physics and of gravity,

And in this twisted lie, this semblance of a truth gone awry; I've held out little hope

for God's ensemble to play within this shadow of a night, so I've forsworn my death as substance

to etch the stain upon our silken threads; to wash them in a bath of blood and semen;

While you choose the quarter of our skin, which we'll mutilate for this final redemptive act

And let the blood flow wild; and the skin coarse, and as we see all which we shall see upon

our throne; when the good lie down and die at the hands of the sinful; and a plague is unleashed

against man; against the very gods, to drain humankind of its desire for a blood sacrifice;

We've lost the gold among the kings of the ancient times; and now is a bath of blood coming

To turn the sea's tide, and wash the earth in a desecrating rift of blood and fire, while

fortune blazes and memory seeks the outcome of the dance; so little lies left undone,

so many truths to barter for; while the last hand played becomes the angels' threaded lie

So hold me in closely, lover; and tonight we'll dream with God.

With so much sexual heat; I've burned up all my longings and my passion over you,

and I'm dripping with sweat, holding onto shadows as they pass through and over me;

while the reason for our discontent evades me, I pry into the unconscious schism

Looking for a way to recognize myself in all this mess; to slow the haunting

And find duress; the passion's play, and envy's humorous requirement; what say you

of the dark cavity of consumption, the hollow sphere of death; where does it play

in among our fantasy; is it the accumulation of our fear that God may truly exist

And if so; why does our rebellion taste so sweet; lock me inside of you, and turn

The key; keep me for yourself, and play the trumpet's part of solid gold; crown

yourself the queen, and drown me in your pool of poisoned salt water; we'll take

turns bathing before the end has come; we'll take the necessary twist of plot

And dream in our capsule, the differing shades of consequence; and turn the blade

Within our bodies, until our guts spill out; it's now, more than ever that we claim

the tide as our own divide; between us lies the chasm that we've longed to see

redeemed; so that in pure white we may span this schism, and be bathed in each other's

Light; so we may touch the flesh of our enlightenment, and scare away the Evil One.

With this play's compromised resistance, the damaged parts of reason still remain

untouched; while you retain a moment's passion for my regards, and for my touch;

The fields are all drifting, without a direction to call their own; and highlights

Gather in the dust when one wind's seizure completes the paragraph more than the

others; grains and beans; a dissolved seduction of what it used to be, when we would

pass in through the gates, and let the four winds blow at once; and we would read

The beginning of the Book of Revelation; one syllable at a time, spoken and observed;

And in the tent, people were crying; in the camp they were running out of blissful

things to think, with this darkness of a plague of sin come upon us, it is the thought

that matters sometimes; and the thoughts of a dark sword swing clearly here,

So go home, take your rest; we'll need you in an hour when the ritual begins, and we

spill our seeds, and paint our breasts red; and dye the hair black as the night,

And with each category of our repentant acts;while the grace of God should flow through,

I feel nothing; and there is an emptiness in the air; just as it was expected,

the heavenly host leaves all untouched, and denies most men their fantasies exposed

into the hour of their waking thoughts; and when we do see God; it is a long stretch

To believing it is something other than a broken mind playing tricks.

We wear our hair back; and drape it over our shoulders, both you and I allowed

this mutual exclusion of contemporary fashion, and we reject God through the

allowance of the flesh, and we bite down hard against the folding in of our resolve

To embrace the countries' distance and replace our own disputes with those of

Another heart's contours, and another mind's disgrace; we float in on a bed of honey,

driving our emotions wild; as we take on the displacement of the feelings we've both

observed; and we drink the honey; mixed with milk, and pray to the gods for our

Deliverance from this vast and sinful bed that we've become attached to; the sour

Wine of the earth's union with the vine, a motion completed in the grip of ecstasy;

while fortune caves in and brings the realization that nothing else really matters,

it's just a motion of the mind, bringing up foul disease and corpses from the dead.

The pen that drips, so my body drips into the well; black ink drips, and the slighted

hand becomes a vessel for the mind's redeeming blanket of fears and loathsome dress;

while I become something simpler, something plain and perfect for the remainder of my

Disease; here I lie, on the verge of catastrophy; blind and stuttering the vowels of

The name of God; and here I lie, dressed in white for the apocalypse; facelift and

fortifications set against the mind of God, still peering into what is left of our

dissonant summer; still bathing mindlessly in the thin autumn breeze as it dissects

The soul of God;

Dust shatters the origin of our statement, driving the winds wild with anticipation

of this new direction, what will we see when the rain dries and the seasons change;

There's too much place for love within this cave of death; too much bleeding from dead

Wounds, and as I make a place for you among the seats; set in stone with jewels at

their faces, I hope that I'll remind you of eternity's transcription through my works,

Though death repel the feeling and the urge for transformation of the skin, though you

Are wrapped in the finery of angels; laying dormant beneath this carpet and the rug,

we'll bother to grip your envious smile, we'll look for a taste of irony and transfer

this similitude onto your skin; like an open transformation blessed in blue tape

With rings upon the surface of the water, running deep ; running with the winds and

With the raindrops; so much of what has been said, is said again; and the cock crows,

and the bleeding lets up; and the rain dries, and the seasons leave us wondering.

When we tap into the sleek reminder of our skin; its softness, and the death it

could have caused, I would have chosen you to touch me through the night; as passion

rolled up its sleeves and sent me off to sleep, how wondrous this feeling as I

Deny my love's last entrance, through the sleeves to the heart; and how I cry

Alone, without anyone here to take notice of me; it is a comfortable kind of numb;

and you wouldn't have lasted, through the fears and the nightmares; and the storms,

You'd have left like so many have gone before; and while you think on that; I'll say

There is no room for me within another's womb; although I try to be reconciled;

although I try to let go enough; to purchase new reality's luster and be kept,

in a cradle; by the sea. While so much regression and pain, and fear is lost on me;

How much is illusion and magic in this world; history is but a fable told by old

and scraggly men; the interrupted life of substance is what reality is supposed to be;

The journey, and the patchworked eyes; seeing every crevice of the dinner table,

So much for life's insipid smile; so much for destiny, and love; and let beauty be a thing

of real aesthetic substance; but in its fashion, we are trained to pick and choose

whatever the superstructure requires.

We pick their bodies clean, of every measure of indecision and surrender to the

dark walks of life; and in our path lies broken bones and teeth; still clenched;

and how we drop the skull and let it shatter, is a reminder of our form; and our

Urgency, too late to call the ambulance; and too desperate to let them stay in

Pieces, here among the inhabitants of the damned; it's some small tribute to take

formlessness where others wash their knives; and make peace among the dead,

You wait beneath the situation's instillment of the self, while I transform into

An angel; with great wings, clawing at the distance to the sun; if I could fly

completely, I would be weathered and unwanting of anything more than separation;

Crystalline clouds would let me walk like fire among them; and I would drown out

All what's left of my institution; reminding me of what's been said, and what's

been told in the darker reaches of the night; our urgency, our trimmed collection

Of worth; still cradling what's been left of the science of pure God in alignment

With the truth; and it's an overwhelming task; to shadow the silence with a bright

call, and it's this death of the body, the trimmed mind which oscillates like fire,

There is no male or female left within me; when I've transcended space and time.

You sing with the reminder of our state; the flipside of my instinct, and as we come

to the valley of our departure; this rotten mess of death and decaying matter,

While what has transpired here, between breaths of life has been what I've craved

For so many years, I've knelt before the altar and prayed for a semblance of God such

as this; to every post of the Atlantic shore, to each proper burial witnessed within

that boundary line; and to the others who have flown beyond, and scraped with death

I seal in my mind the shattered flame of a deathly fire; seething sparks of intimacy

Soothing the cold and shallow cause of death, and warming the bones and flesh; unto ashes,

as they were, so shall they remain; blessed by God in the hereafter; it's a dithered drop

of sunlight radiating in through the transmogrifying field; and where there's thunder

There is pain, rolled out on the bed; tears in her eyes (she's such a gentle creature)

And bent on the mystery of the winds, she sews the light in patterns for the gods;

and dreams that her will be done now and in the hereafter; that she could complete her

sentence, and carry on the extra weight of gravity's hold; to die in the fabrics of time

But not to die completely; to be edged on and pushed a little further before the drop,

so she may stretch out her wings and catch the breath of the angels underneath her breasts,

And fly; victimless; through the ever-nearing-death dissolution of the winds,

Her body pains, and her voice cries out in suffering; too much hatred endured for this

short span of life; and to the crossroads, where there is blood and fire waiting,

and life's long pursuit for happiness and a bit of death; each motion made

Eats the flesh of the living; while her call steals the trumpet, and gains in plastic

Ash; there will be light, and it will be the desirous kind; and there will be plenty

of death within the transmutation of sins; and although there is an immortality played out

upon the wrapped and plastic candles of our denied fates; so it is, and so it must be done

Unless the cradle of youth corrupt the sea; and wash her death away in an ecstasy of pure

emotive thought; and the hollow shelter we put up for ourselves be caught in a wisp of flame,

No one will touch the prescription of the body, when its been given in blood;

And as we walk, we see the death toll rise; and as we wait within the attic; we can watch

the dead make similitudes of the gods; these gods are truly dead, enigmatic scars of

What once were the pleasurable states of being; joy, heartlifting, happiness;

What stance is left to take, when all you see are the corruptions of death flowing through

the body and nothing left of mind or soul to matter, what spurning thoughts drive us into

death; with the mindset that all our sins may cost us eternal damnation, and what gives us

The right to choose one way or the other; when death is death; what happens after is just

Interpretation of the finer points of it; we will all be drawn into that same ignited flame.

The mellow strip of night's descent, and where the claim to your love lies

hidden in the arms of some great tree; destiny's bondage, and the claim to your

love lies within my swollen belly, and there's a piece of me still furious

That you came, as you came; to dredge up this moment in my mind; the soft side

Of my antagonistic despair, I wish that you had come another hour; and at an easier

juncture than this pure past as it expires; and I hope that you'll creep well

within the midnight moon's advance; expect nothing, of me and I will give you

Nothing to hold onto; just a dream, a worn out fantasy; and my youth's pages ripped

Sentenced to death by the flames, and as you steal the soft wind which blows out

upon this crystalline lake; and make the trumpeter sound as one who carries substance

And weight; I'll choose to tell you of the last who came themselves in the name of God;

And how they fell, and how they bled; and the order in which their organs we sentenced;

so bleed not idly, girl; and be not awake when the midnight strikes its chord; for they

are coming, for you; and sooner than later you will see God's face spitting on the water.

The divide, and the absence of everything ; the clarity of one small breath, unloosed

while the changes in appearance and in my emotional state of being take root, there's

too many eyes on me for me to remember how I felt before consumption of a charge,

Before I took the substance which would change my entire life; and I'm left wondering

About the will to carry on in dissonant silence; through these hammered plagues of

raucous laughter; and while I spend my nights crying, at the dilution of my life

through these few days; and how it's become another field for the chorus of the world

To sing their scorn; and raise their voices against God, and I pray: Blessed are they,

Who resist the will of Him who sent them; for they are the checks and balances of God;

and as we show ourselves through the pages of this upturned book; even as the night

becomes a light for calling into, even as the stars bend down and pick the points of

Intersection with their light, and the cusp of the world reacts; how slowly we can breathe

And how dissonant is the sound of thunder let down from above; and my seed, what I carry

within me; couldn't write or rescue anyone to the depths where with it rescues you,

in the hereafter of our souls, when the radish tops blow in the wind; their half-diluted screams

Edging off insanity's pursed lips, and the failure to react to the muse;

Leaves nothing naked or exposed, only the bare flesh and bones; only the depths of a sunken

soul; trapped within the frost of innocence, while it collapses in on her; and she jumps

to catch herself as she is falling, it's only a far and distant cry from a surrender;

Which nobody has seen coming except the slave master sitting in the sun.

The drought of seven days time; and my weary body, worn with the death of my love's last

breath; as if it were my own, I stave off religion's musky fragrance and bend at the knee;

What holy sepulchre could have trained me for my death's last perspiration, the execution

Of fate, and the synonym's chaining against this last bit of revolutionary green; there is

containment of the master within the feeding stars; and gravity's corruption as it places

its hold against the fate of men and the drainage of the beast, two small steps for man

And a giant leap for the unseen container which holds the soul; every past friend of mine

Has been caught within the grip of death's resemblance; and then there's the muse, imperfect

in substance, but perfect in form and feature; she holds within her my breath and my allowance,

to ease the flow of respiration and the drainage of my soul's defiant aperture;

One thing left to discover, one momentary glimpse to be made within the mind of the diluted

Atmosphere; and that is this: when evening comes, and she reclaims my heart, in the dried up

desert of my song; where there is only false positives and the unnamed silence grows thicker;

Should I stay and sulk in the salt water, should I grow wings and fly to my relief;

Or should I cut my wrists and watch them slowly bleed; bleed out unto the remembrance of my love.

These several lies, all wrapped in place with the cord of your unconscious mind, still

blessing through the speakers, the softest lie; to be trained and to be subdued by our

Righteous pair of eagle feathers; our flight into the unknown origins of time,

When so we speak; and hold a candle high, when so we take the world by storming of the

seas; when so we break the color scheme of truths and sexual deference; we'll make shame

as an offering and we'll break the cistern of the gods, in place of two distinct fellowships;

We'll have one only; to seek the glory of a captor, in exchange for the small sympathies

Which lie on wings unbroken; for the entrance to the cupboard of youth, we're left unchallenged;

every eye shall see your beauty, and your horns; and the greatness of the aims of God laid out

before us, and the wellness of the saints and of the perjurers, deaf from birth;

We lie here, in our complaint; reducing sin to sin and the almighty awaits His second judgment

Death lies in rings around the ashes, as the fall and we play games in the dark schism of our

world; and as the feelings dry up, leaving only matrimony's consumption to be held at truth,

I watch as the shadows interrupt your storm, and flee from the night's perception as a coin

Drops within my reach; and as I pick it up to see your face flounder on its surface, holding it

at right angles; trying to find the breadth and width of this illusion, but there is no scoring

at the surface; there is no reason I should see your face etched out upon this cold black lens,

And as I find the imperception to hold your gaze so vigilantly, it is the raw form of death.

In exchange for our youth, we turn the tides and offer something real, the beatitudes

sketched in stone walls, for our children's grief as they become adults; and writhe

within the same religious constraints which hold us bound to God; the dinner is set

And what would come of a lengthy surface for our regret collapses, and leaves us

Bewildered; too much time on our hands for freeing us of sins' restraints, there's

too much length in the diminished lot of love's quiet laughter, and as we punish

ourselves for the lengths to which we've traveled; as we cherish the plates of ivy

Dusted off and shattered; we make one complaint, the death of our forebears has

Been a long and silent ride within the valley of dust and ash, and as we see our own

future; the same as that of any race, nation, or tongue; death's consumption as passed

into being; I hold your hand, but that isn't enough, death will rise to consume us both

And as we play the foot games; as we walk along the outskirts of the mire, keeping touch

With all what is left of our sanity, and the burning love sinks into the skin's deeper

reaches; one could know, one shelter set above and one buried deep within the snow's breath

Here; in this insanity, within these arms of nothing that is real; one could twist the

Boundary lines, and make a safe judgment for the death's quiet canopy; one could fall deep

into the outskirts of a town and lie safe, blessing the God of Heaven; and captivating

the audiences of men, who hold the light of death's resolve as nothing more than mystery.

At the altar; exchanging ideas and scenarios running through our heads; the cool company

of getting older, and realizing the world is not all ours; there is a semblance and an

order underlying everything, and the grave complaint; that steel, cold and hard complaint

Where has all the fashion gone, where are the slaves to the supermarket; where's the

Daisy chained drifter from my former life; who ate cauliflower florets and staged her own

death at least once a month, between the onset of her puberty and the changing of her voice

she was dancing with the devil in a red dress; causing all the mucous from her mouth to rise

Up in her throat and drive the distance in between her and any other boys, so plain a thing

And as I grew, and as the world complained of my indecision and lack of wanting clear direction;

so I grew tired of its bickering; its madness, its mistakes; I and the world were at odds,

At least for crafting miracles; and as we fell through ashen hills, I spilled every trinket

Of my youth's affection; purged every oscillation I have ever felt of love, denial, regret;

and I pursued some holy semblance of a life; not quite pure, but pure enough by my standards;

As if fate herself were knocking at my door and saying, "let me in; I'm here to give you a real

good beating, and after that the clouds will descend upon us both," and as shadows lay across me,

And the thick black dark of death descends on me; even now, I notice how the lilies grow.

Across the great divide and into another semblance of some makeshift dream,

bloodletting and the great calamity of spilled youth, crying on the bathroom

floor; so as we show ourselves; exposed into the light, we field shadows

In our routine accomplishment of the twister's spin; breathless worries sent

Through the shores and into whole islands made for the repertoire of angels'

descent; it isn't curiosity that killed them all, it was the darkness; and they

were ready for the fall; a whole light bleeding exposure of their form

Sentenced as we are, to the fate that is provided; and as we ring the bell

For dinner's only one last morsel; this token of our God's surrendered daughter,

and as the plain marks upon the skin set loose, and unveil the drooping wings

we''re all made to bear; I plead with those sentenced to die; I do not want

To become one of them, I'd rather fly, and with these wings; soar on the winds

Of God, but light has fastened for me my only one curiosity, to match the stain

of blood swirling in the ring of my tub; the destiny of suicide's compliment

We sign, and we disclose any and all information of our death;

And mine is more bitter than the last, mine is more complacent than the first;

these dreamy eyes, wanting for some measure of rebellion to keep me staring on

into the sea of my misfortune; some wholesome scepter of ivory, bleached pure white

And to its construction causes the betterment of anger, and the torture of my soul.

In the cupboard and out of reach; there lies my future, drawn in and held by a galaxy

of stars; and to my complaint and loathing, there is you; destined for greatness before

you were born, a simple soul with rebellion in your purse; the diabolical deeds of youth

Wrapped in plastic and sold; without the want or the denial of a truth, seized as company

To Satan's lasting dance; your wings, and your dreamy eyes; not wanting, not seeing any

other option from your birth; but to hold on tightly to what you have; and what you have

is real, it is in the breath and in your arms, it is on the tastebuds and in the smell

You exude; All things rush to you like wild fire, and as they take their leave, the simplified

Reaction of their breath consumes the palace guard, nothing reacts as you do save the

cold, harsh destiny of death; are you then the black, consuming star; heading this way

for totality of destruction, so that purity may die, and the firstborn may take their vows

Heaven and Earth are full of your glory; even as you suffer, there are repentant stars

Being born each and every hour since you came; are you the shepherd of light, come to bear

the truth to all the angels of God; and to make a flood of mercury run still through the

grasses and the plains of the Lord; to poison and pursue those who would hide their heads

From teaching; are you the toxic saint, given life in order to reduce the world to waste,

I know you; you are a catalyst for change; and I see you write your name in secret,

among the stars; you are not some god sent here to be plainly marked and noticed;

you are a safety net; and a cage; dressed in the repentance of a dirty land.

You are sure; while I am not mistaken that it's you I crave for, and as the whole

of life contained within a pill awaits us both; to unravel and unleash its wanting

skin, so there I drink to ages past and their remedy; to health and death's

Accompaniment among the stars, and to the age of flesh; as it dissolves into a pool

Three blasts of a horn proceed, and make the watering dreams of realization come;

as we persist in the pleasures of the flesh, torn by fire and by the cinders of love

And ashes spilt in death; for the accumulation of our screams; there's enough of

Life's entertainment holding on; you scar yourself with the blade, and come at the

first sign of registration; to be born again, to become some sainted beast, traveling

at the top speed of light; through angles ill reflective of your peace in dreams,

Copulation becomes another fall from destiny; perjure of skin's assemblage; ring of fire

While you are walking in a bit of grass, a plot of land unbroken and whole; I still

decide what path we'll take through this event of change; and I say there will be blood;

Ashes will fall from above; and the whole body will rock and be shaken;

Every death lies in waiting for the previous to pass through; and as we challenge God,

as we take the name of Him in vain; and still our sentence's denial and mix it with

the truth; there's bad blood in the faucet; the kind that only little girls can see.

The progeny of a faith, obscured and transmogrified through the centuries; a faith

blind to the problems of this past and unforgiving year; so much at stake, so much wasted

talent given to the youth, and so many ill-perceptions of their diseases; run wild

Carried away with the scrutiny of a substance, performed dryly and at second-grade-risk

Each moment the power is taken from them; each struggle to retain the dignity and vice

of mass-production's era; we match her coldly, and with the similitude of days run dry

while wet lands run through the middle of this stone; carried in a pocket and taken

Home, placed upon her dresser; so she may dream of the inconsequential positions

Of the stars, and of the planets; so she may pick up her books and read, of how to change

her fortunes; so she may come at the midnight hour, and watch the waves of her transcendence

placed upon the mantle piece; as she grows wet, lonely; and alive, without the knowledge

To reduce herself to hours written into pages; into time immemorial; as it gazes on,

And thunders call her, and they wash her name throughout the sky; a perfect framing of the truth,

and of some crazed transmission; there is another way to ask the prophets and the soothsayers;

Than through these books, and while we pray in ecstasy's bed; with a light, we'll leak through

shadows and through glass as we come; into the valley of moss, and flame; to stagnate the body

of the sea, to stagnate life; and to fear its intimacy; to drown ourselves in our depressive frame.

We climb into the pool; edgeward, into the drops of death which make up its unearthly

substance; no hesitation, just a swallow and we'll be bereft of fears and inconsequential

shades of life; no more yearning for the falseties of shadow play and dithered dreams

Every last corruption will be placed upon the skin's entirety; and we'll go out

Like candles snuffed to the music of the spheres, and we'll make reason wanting to know

the bath waters and what they do contain; is there more life beyond the distance we will

travel; is there more substance beyond that of dark, decaying matter;

And we'll make due in the rift that we create in space; and we'll remember nothing

Of the impurities we held behind us in this shadow of a life, and as we fade and disrupt

the pond's contentment with our entrances; I'll reach a hand for you, I'll seize your

deathly form within the shades of night; and keep you company unto the answer of our fate

Death rides slowly by indecision, and what will become of us is a small and desperate plea

Rise up, and take this broken part of me; that I should not perish but have eternal life,

and that you also; should not be burned in the fire; that we may be lovers yet, of an

eternal and unspoken stain upon death's doorstep; that we may gain through displacement

A breath of that uncommon guilt which permeates all life; that we may enter whole

Through the denied execution of our belonging, and stay for the system of this dream,

resolute with inferred structure to our days; and into the flying trap of the hours,

we may scrub the planes of disillusion; and cause for us a canopy to fly,

At half-mast; just enough to bathe within the ocean's stunning glare, as we sit

Waiting for the hand of God; to reach within and take us from our sins.

Though the Pleiades revive a stint of life within us; though the phosphorescent lights

migrate our detoxification of this stewing thought process, and though we come at the hour

of death to come undone; and let the denial of the flesh freeze us here, within her arms;

There's a certain hour wherein my comfort stagnates; and a purpose to this gross, and

Chilling flame; what matters youth and calm serenity, when there is suction at the veins

drawing out the love for passion and its fruits; what need I of desire's strong arm

when there are subtleties in death which denounce passion; what do lovers need beyond the

Grave; where there is no medium for expressing love; love dies and so do we; it is a cradle

Set for the child of my womb; and it is enough for passion's display at the right moment

of her birth, then ease and dithered company; the cradling of an angel of God, without

disease; and in her pocket, she holds the keys to hell and death; and she surmises

Each breath that we take, how long that we should last; another's company, and another

Permutation of the stars, combining raw science with the wealth of mythology; our holy star

sentenced to the death of men and gods; quiet now, while we awaken the beast; and cut its

hands off twice, so there may be a moment's peace; before he should awaken; scarred and furious

Two quiet hands, perched atop the canopy of death's divide; one slumbers while the other tells

Of grander things than beauty; of substance beyond this waxing death, and my opinion rolls

above and beyond its contemporary science; my skin makes goosebumps; and the hour is nigh,

I can feel the energy trapped within this ghastly thing; and I can feel the swarming

Within the pocket of this deathly hold, beneath the baser layers; where she can swell her body,

and let the mind become translucent like a mist; and where my own divorce settles cleanly

Within the contours of our bed; where we dissolve our love's laughter and wake within

each other's fluid motion of the breast.

Your sentiment is my confusion; as we struggle with each other's minds' protrusions;

and you come clear while I obfuscate my own truths with a denial of myself you cannot

bear to own; it is this non-clarity which conforms to the static structures I have built

And so, to reap the unsettling truths which we have scattered on the four winds

There must be a lack of our unique ambitions left within us, the purging of our stronger

desires to know one another's plight within this chain of life; and we will feed upon

strangers' cold refrain and pick up the wood to place upon our furnace's pile

And as I burn the remnants of your passage into death, this life long struggle of purification

I hold within my hands what is meant for me to have, your very existence; as you and I

were meant to bear each other's pains; and I was meant to have a portion of your flame,

so is it now that I carry on the calculation of your form within my bosom;

So now it's summer, and all our wings have melted away; there's glass shining in the ocean

And our bottle has run dry; there's no place left for distance and divorce, just a string

of lights to keep us company as we pray.

Repentance of the dead; how they carry on through the recognition that their sins have

not been paid in full; the closed-border procession of the angels, as they pass through

without the company of sinners; lying in wait for their confession day to come;

And I hold me out, through that wisp of smoke which separates our distinctive tastes;

And I level to the ground my unwanting desirous flaws, as if they were the stained part

that has no reason left to tear it off; to tear the body down to bare blood and ash,

There is a recognition in your face, as you find me sitting; and there's a purge coming

From your intestinal tract; blood, and the rite of your words; stemming out into the fire;

even as the cold winds gather, there you are, sitting on a perch; devouring your synthetic

flame; so will I, when the lightning comes; be gathered in for the future of our film,

This indistinct revelry; the calf's manure musk, and a disciple of a painting shredded black

So many kids decide what's right or wrong; but where can I foretell the fortunes of my planted

sky; where can I give birth and know the outcome of my child's last dance with death; where will

I become experienced when the cavalcade comes to light; and on my own, I've given over to death

To see the stars appear more brightly in the fore than in the aft, to recognize failure when I

Come across it in the darkness of my blinded eyes; and when I should know the sentimentality of death's

great eye; when the words are stitched within my breathing chest; upon my breasts as I deliver this

last child; unto the grateful grips of death's doorstep; where she'll wait an hour for her death's departure.

Her envoy as deployed into a futuristic sun, spitting parallels with the night's departed dead;

and suffering a strain of inconsequential arhythmia; the doctor's refrain, as she passes on the

nightshade as a remedy for youth's intolerable substance; and we hold hands, as she's put to death

And we become a single body through the covenant of marriage; and we fool ourselves into believing

There is some kind of savior who can cross our path; that we may be redeemed, and I hold her hand

against my bosom as her water breaks; and I would cast a spell if I knew any magic whatsoever;

to make this idling day to last forever, one stoic moment after another; in our blind faith of God

Heaven knows no sin which the two of us haven't entertained within our wildest fantasies;

It's growing older and more obscure in time that we once desired; holding the favor of the gods,

and in our hands the right to obtain intimacy with one another; our dead faces floating on the streams

of time; as we consume the life within, and place our death in a casket for some other place and time

Death grows colder, the longer we wait for its consumption of the flesh; so take us now, before we've

Become darkened beyond repair on the internal side of things; and before we've become too far corrupted

for our faces to wear a mask of ecstasy as adornment; before we've come so far in our appointed time,

that death is the only breath of life we long for; and in passing, each swallow contains our misery

We need to derive some soured milk for our bodies' thirst; and I hunger for the rotten flesh of a lamb;

Taking in our bread, and washing it down with our wine; coincides with the first night that we met,

innocent as babes; we tucked each other in and said our prayers beneath the pillow; numbed bodies

meeting in the middle for our night's first taste of each other's naked skin, still I drown in this

Memory, and how it changed the world; and how it changed me for the worse; and how I'd now have had

anything but this memory to reflect on, for if it weren't built of fire; what substance would it have had.

The door breaks and the caterpillar's growth denies the laws of nature; two dents

in my head, and two bruises left upon my legs; one threatened shoulder to keep me

up, and quiet for a spell; And as you cast away and into sleep; the paradox obscures

The assembly's smile, and there is a bright and lasting feast for you to consume;

Every measure saved for God and the enlightened ones; each portion spent on superficial

means; to procreate the earth's bounties; to cocreate in the vision I had had, my eyes

spent on simple treasures and the radish sings her dissonant song; two turnips and their

Greens, the cause for impoliteness and admonishment; we are the harbingers of death,

And every seed taken, every arm filled with the growth of lilacs and lilies; is another

drop of death, shed into the wellspring of a woman; here, death defies all gravity and reason;

And there is no cure, but to lie upon the bed; arms outstretched and to call her as the mystic

Calls the rodents; with bread and wine, with a small sieve of planted desires; earthly,

womanly, majestic; and as each coursing madness may; speak the similitude of death's plain

grey; as earth is scattered to the fields on a whim of Satan's minions; each day pressed

Presents an unordinary magic to be pronounced; and the daily sentence burns with the shielding

Of the eyes; and so as we forget this world's request, and take another night to fly beyond

our wholly empirical state; and seduce our girl in the evening's first light, before we cast

a goodbye glare; or stage some other frightful and embellished affair; we walk on egg shells,

In the circumference for where the world meets here, at angles with the dead.

These words; they float as dead wood, traveling the fits of malcontempt I've held

against your strained and bruised body; and when we lie like lovers in the night,

I've tied my hands behind me, so that I may speak the words you wish to hear instead

Bright and everlasting fits of truth; to stain your body red, and with consumption

At their feet, to drown in a sea of blood; so much for these inconsistent rules of

paradox; and these winding wisps of faith, which carry in them some established self-

identity; so much for the sea of glass shards, to carry us into tomorrow's fading

Grace; leave my glass half-empty, and I will churn out for you my masterpiece;

A symphony of estranged delights; our melancholy mystery of nonsensical performance

played through ritual and dance, and dream; the undercurrent of my subconscious mind;

at long last, filling the eternal void; with suffering and pain; and fury's laughter

You cannot control the voice I've left within my head; you cannot seize a sister

For yourself who's better able to see the mind of God; here, lying in a bed of red

silk sheets; defying death, defying everything that has ever placed a hand on me;

It's in my movement and in my youth's undoing; you are the sun to me, and I your azure

sky; below me breathes destiny and fate; seeking the shelter of our presumed godhood

Tonight, beneath an alabaster moon; cries out nature in her torment

And we will purge our sins upon the planes of existence; and leave the earth dead

in a storm of dust and ashes; this first plague of our embittered love, poured out

So that the world may know that we've evolved.

We move in the direction of our delights, for spoils and for the feel of death

lingering upon the skin; and for love's cool and desperate flame to burn so very

bright; I hold your hand through the valley and the sink of pain, two birds

In love beneath the ocean's contaminated waves; and as we melt within each other's

Grip, none will silence us; no one will cover our faces with the dirt of lust's

abandon; none will scrape off the flowers from our hair, to leave us balding

there is a woman deep within me; who covers all the bases of a weathered youth

Lounge now, upon the highway to sin; and we will strain to make it up an hour

In the rain; And as you succeed in filling the void with an illusion of love's

last hour, the hour before the fall into a lustful act; an act of indecision

and of death; so too, I bleed the final act of our perceptive minds' eye

And motion cures only the last of our endowment; lust acts as a bond to strengthen

our resolve, and fear; fear leaves us dead in the water, drowning and in flames;

and the ordinary substance of everyday life concludes in a fit of chaos,

How my life has changed; and how the world has transpired in a fit of rage,

Left to go an extra mile through the sand; left for the purge of sin; I claim my

right to collapse into the black hole of death; to ride the sequence of my sins

Through every pain, there comes an hour of perceived truth which shall remain untainted.

We dance in the blades of death; each cut and tear of the skin is a soothing pain,

and as forgiveness becomes our final state; we wash away our sins in these stains;

and reconnect the lost fantasy of youth in our attire; gold sequins and silver lace

While in this section of our unconscious mind; we wrap around each other's flesh

With the dark side of our wrists; the side where we had stained the bed red; with

our yearning for defacement of the flesh; these deeper scars upon our breasts,

reduced to lingering pain in this transference of dead skin, to open up our hearts

To let the answers in; these truths, bare as our exposed and naked skin

What lies beyond the grave, and where our simple breath expands to fill; a slight

contradiction in forms and transparency of self; born of consequences desired yet

not now felt; we wash our hair in this sea of red; and bare ourselves in measure

To the gods; that they may bleed us unto death's defiance, and come short our

Exposure, come what may of our innocence betrayed; in this slightest face of truth,

we build ourselves a fortress made of glass, that it may shatter at a single stone's

throw; and all our being be consumed through this small action; fortune may come

Lightly; or in descent the winds may pick us up and thrash us against the hill

And as we go, our moment may require blood; and ash, and sand from the sea of ecstasy;

to fill our home, and make it presentable to the gods; so we should find a way to dance,

and stay within the boundaries of the sea; to become incorruptible and pure again.

The breath of our dilemma, as we stoke the fire of our disenlightenment; and bow before

the corruptibles as we answer to their call, so little is known of what's to come, so here

we are; rising to an occasion of rebirth; born again on the backs of stars and angels

Lest we all become like gods; and lest we all use sacrifice in our daily allowance

There will be hell, and fire; before the end has come; and I am willing to take you as my

bride; despite all of this, reduced to a ministry of pain; our rationalization built on

desperate greed and the visions of the lonely at heart; we have been sentenced and now

To carry out our disentanglement from the night; are two great rings of fire;

Set between stones and the bittersweet death that was ordained for us; to contemplate this

hour, as we see the most of signs and symbols; and the reparation from our sins, we seek

complete forgiveness beyond and above what God can grant; we have the jury's compliments

And we live on the verge of death, these several hours; clinging onto what has come before

Don't instill me with your breath, and I won't compromise my dealings with the devil tonight;

it's for our own good that we make these mistakes, it is charitable and an incomplete serenity;

fielding stars as if they were perceptible objects to tinker with; in light of the fortune they

May bring; holy order and an incomplete frustration of our truths, tied with misery's abandonment

These closed corners of the sea, and dropping fulcrum of my eye could make anyone bleed an

incoherent truth; and lie laughing and in denial of the facts that face them quite directly;

Your beauty in death; it defines you, it is who you are.

As we walk through the valley of our dearly departed, what lies under us in these footprints

we have made; is the body of our dead, collected into patterns in graves; and what aesthetic

sins have been cast within their tents; to drive out the angelic spirits, and leave them

As they are; to relax among these strangers, and to no longer fight for breath

Come one, come all; into the night. Play for me a prescription of our laughter and our fears;

our crying fits, and those of anger and our death lies beneath our feet as we walk, and as

we fade; the forest becomes our hideaway, and the distance we have traveled into death

Another shade of red, for the mixing of our blood with ashes spent out for the dead

And as I see you walking hand in hand with me, before the urgency of thought has become corrupted,

I find my own light extinguished; and the purged fire within my veins extinct, this blissful night's

selection of whom may be called and sainted; and those who are made out to be sinners

Keeps the warmth within me closing down to its final end; and stokes a madness and depression

Who am I to triumph in this everlasting world of magic and mayhem; who am I to see the stars' reduction

into cold and youthful morning air's lights, shining through a mist of ocean breeze; I am the last of

the fallen, screaming mad; so that when the night comes and all have been devoured; I am the end

Of everything; broken by the wayside, and turned sour by the will of the night's ensemble

Dusted off to make everything again as it should be.

Slight and obscene gestures made behind my back while I was breathing and concentrating

on my breath; this recommendation for what I've had to give up in order to find you,

staring in on me; while I was on the outside making noises with my band; you came to me

To cradle me, because you knew how I felt; and there's no getting older without such mistakes

I dropped a line to you; complained at how I'm always being left behind; and the dust won't

settle; or the broken mess repair itself, how many hours I've spent wandering through life

going nowhere; spinning wheels where there's no dirt to hinge upon; and when the cold comes,

I take showers in the ice water; wishing it would melt away, wishing for some fire to take

The pain away, and cause for my collapse; this repeat struggle, swollen eyes where I was hit

while the dancer in the dark lays on her makeup; for full flexivity of God's broken trust,

I come; and what becomes of me is broken and bent, a shadow for the looming spires;

Distance makes the heart grow mellow and absolutely broken; so come back to me, my love

And when the plain night falls, and the emptiness of the sky regains its consciousness,

my true love dines on the flesh of eagles, and wakes me up in a fit of ecstasy; burning

down bridges can be quite a cumbersome way to find your kicks; and while we wait for the

Announcement of our daughter; we hold hands in delivery, while I breathe in and she breathes

Out; and there's a quietness about the place, which precedes the coming of the messiah,

glory and praise and a bit of wine mixed with soured milk; so much for the coming, or the going

Of anything of import through our times; and through the spaciousness of this vast divide.

Through thick and thin, and the innocence of our shelter; battered by the winds of ancient sin,

no home but for the abandoned playground in the yard; where we take our leave of abstinence;

and train ourselves in the flight of ecstasy, and wind our way through the valley of the dead

As our first course of action, we partake in the blood sacrifice of God's willing child

And make it our peace to come undone, and devour the flesh as if it were our own; its pleasant

draft of raw mystique; its fire burning from beneath the ground, the only one true spoken word;

coming from its mouth like the fire dripping from a heated sword, we swallow and resume living

And death becomes us, in the horrors of the night; when all the world turns black with scars

Too much death becomes us, and we're trapped among the living, living out our full desires;

and dripping ecstasy from our mouths like the wine dripping from a too-full flask; we deserve

what we've been given, which is the enmity of gods and men; poured out on our faces, and between

Our breasts; and as the night wears thin, we beg for the reunion of the stars, in alignment

With our own desires, and with flesh torn out and bitten by the teeth of hounds; in this ailment,

we obscure the truth and find within ourselves a bit of some angelic plague; to drown ourselves

with beneath a sea of red; and tonight, when the wild women say their prayers in the ancient tongue,

We walk hypnotic rings about the old and greyed dissolution of our house; and pray in tongues

That the walls be made of glass, and that they shatter; leaving bones.

You sympathize with me, and with the false bleeding in my ears which tells me I am damned,

unsalvageable parts with no contours left worth redemption; I am a synonym for sin's

corruptible means; and an oscillation between death and life and hellfire;

I ask for you to save my soul, to be a blessing for me; but you can't include me as a part

Of your own transgressions; except when we're alone and in bed, in a storm of ecstasy; writhing

in the dance of the devil, so too much air and not enough oxygen leaves me wasting; and as for art;

there's a soft spot within me for anything accompanying your waist; I'm drawn to your curves

Let there be a name for God; and let it be likened to your beauty, your perfect frame

Health conscious chromosomes; and the need for fuel to burn, and I will be the fuel for the flame,

and let there be a need to spark blood; and I will be the same, each turning of the knife leaves

scars; and these will go unredeemed, and with the loss of innocence and shame curtailed with

The doubt of my tastes unhinged; our livelihood becomes an estranged wasteland of brimstone

And fire; with chaos to compliment the works of God within my womb, every moment I give breath

to birth I can relax somewhat; as if I were only carrying your child, and not the omnipotent,

So preach on, woman; and relax, you've saved my soul enough for the time being, a garden awaits

Me; although it's overrun with death and bones; and the very destruction you acquired for me;

I will take gravity in the sayings of the saints, and bear witness that you are my companion,

Unto death, we shall deserve in one another's company;

A child of our loins and a bed to rest my head upon, with birth comes the sadness

of a lifetime; bleeding in through my ears; each breath corrupts my being in its

entirety; and though the soul bleeds absolute; I find myself gazing at the stars

With joyful tears and a birth of pain and death; the stillborn madness which

Corrupts my hours and my years, each day becomes a bath of blood to soak into,

each life long fantasy a daze in which I can relax even if momentarily into;

this seventh hour past her death, I yearn for the innocence of a child no more

Certain of this world than the next, as if we were combined in one flesh

And so I provoke the gods, with my hunger not yet satiated; I fulfill my dreams and

carry out my passion through this stain of sin; and even now, there's the death

which comes so absolutely upon me in my sleep; and there is no renewal of this life

Heaven and Earth become a drainage ditch for all involved; and the accumulation

And this vast intolerance to sin, a foreground for the past inscribed on future events;

while my mind's eye purchases its weight upon the branch of evil, and I collude with

devils this night, as flames provide me offspring yet; and my desire becomes half-

Fulfilled through the quantity of their births; Hell can await me with open arms,

While I stab furiously at the gates of Heaven, wanting to be let in; there is no room

for ghosts there, or for sinful remarks; the staff has not been satisfied by my rush

to enter; the gates are closed, and even now my awakening has been stilled to a transmission

For the dead; so they may come at my free will and languish ever after in the sun.

In the transmissions of the sun; I hear a strain of violence and one of love, and as the

naked bodies sing and dance on the television; I retreat beneath my sheets and call you

on the phone, to tell you just how amazing I think you are; and there's black bottles

Stacked in the corner of my room; and in those is where I keep the last of the wine;

Lips locked, dry, cracked; lips locked with yours take me to this place within my mind,

I'd like to feel it again one more time these lips locked, dry. So place me on a turntable

with the needle pressed into my flesh; and let it peel and burn the skin; so you can read

My unconscious mind, bleeding edges of it; the thoroughfare of my polluted skin;

And as you go, as you close up shop before you rape me; (as you've already done with your

machine); so lies the clear sentence of our youth, we have no hold, no boundaries of our own;

We are an intolerable crew of lackluster kids, not ready for the real world; not ready for

Our silent sins to stain us, set us back an hour or two; not quite dedicated enough to take

the blame for all we've purchased through our youth; but old enough to want some responsibility;

We're destined for the foothold to slip up; and the cave to collapse; each moment brings us

closer to the hour when we die; and death's substance is so very real; even if mysterious.

So I will cave in when I do; and when the clouds become a dwelling place, I'll fall through

And let the chaos of the earth consume me through the stepping stones of mechanical people,

placed in part by the gods to trumpet in the right; and carry them on for a season through

the cold and painful reaches of the night.

The burning of these ropes which hold me up; and I can't see the bottom of this well,

its dampened heart, the center of gravity to which I make my final plunge; so long,

I will meet you at the bottom one day, and we'll make love in the ordinary way we do;

To carry out the feelings of my final last lap of life, and to pursue the cravings

Which I've felt for years but was too weak to let go for; within the face of fear I've

found my strength and am ready to attain a small matter, no matter the cost; and I've

fallen through death and through life's bitter memories to come to this; there'll be

No more statues to worship, no more cradles for my bed; I'll live in the company of gods

And make my head the only place I keep my secrets; until you are born of ashes and of

flame; and then I'll pour them into you; my love; my receptacle of faith; in the ordinary

way of speaking, I drown myself so I can feel nothing; because I've felt too much emotion

And there's a time when one must stop to realize the misfortune of one's life

And say to themselves, this is change; this is how I want to spend my days, not bleeding

lonely and vacant scars into the wind; not piecing together the last drops of red for some

aesthetic form, but to pursue a change of motion that may writhe against the wind

And to bury the earth and all its treasures, before the closure of the clouds sets in.

Undressed rehearsal, waiting for the curtain call to come on stage; before the entrance

of our death has been announced, is it fair game to tour with a striking chord of music;

and does the lustful sound of our breath bleeding into one another's throat take precedence

When all the gods have spoken, is there a capital which can contain us in its skirts

And for all the totality of aspirations and dreams; just who knows how many pills it will take

to make them seemingly come true; how many hallucinogenics will we take to reduce the world

to an easier state of being; one where we can slip through the cracks and keep us open to

The truth; as truth within our eyes, is enough to keep the dogs at bay; and then the forensics

play at picking us apart; each staple ripped and each incision made, never sewn back up;

and while they work at tearing us apart; we work at dreaming something new; collecting all

our memories into a vast and distant future world; where there is no transparent sea;

But the red sea churns its body against the shores; and even now, we see a compliment to this

Everything has been foreseen; by men or gods; or both, and in the interim; is it no one knows,

what restructuring can occur to make the movement of the stars cease; or fit to spin indefinite

Who can swallow these pills, and not see the face of God; playing on the water's surface;

I drink with you the calories of Heaven, while we place tokens on the spire; each game played

sacrifices a queen; and today that queen is you; but I would trade my part, and I would take

My life to keep you company in the distant echo of the stars.

We cease to draw lines in the sand, and we consume each other's space; for the night when we

lie in each other's arms; it is a heavy place we hold, together fused within this furnace of

desire; our longings trapped in time's continuum; within this place, we've been tied

Together with strings and ribbons; and death. For tomorrow brings our resurrection

And we can't bear to be split; for better or worse, we die together in each other's arms,

begging for the gods to take notice; and to care for us as we have cared for one another;

Trimmed lies, and the stain of grace dissolved; through the carapace of death's insignia

Two temples lie at the bottom of the earth; and as for Satan's requirement, there is Hell

awaiting beyond the gates; and as for God's kingdom; there isn't any clear walk or path

which leads to here; it seems a celebration of pure randomness; dished out to the so-called

Saints, and their survival through the pains of death and the hereafter; if only love

If only the chosen were taken for some benefit to God; if there were a sentence placed which

incorporated fitness for a world disjointed from our own; and if there were a truth and

consequence for being the first born or the last to see the eternity in the stars' shadows

Some will rise and fall, while others muster a string of faith before their eventual decay,

Let the clusters of the angels portray the purity of life's descent; and let the shadows

muster their risen fortunes; before we sing to the heavens; let you and I pretend one moment's

time that there is reason in all this shadow of insanity, that there is life worth living

And let the corporeal stigma attached to life transcend, and let our ghosts behave in accordance

To God's will; what will we cannot comprehend; even so, let the music play loudly, and let the

future shine just a momentary breath; before we place our hopes and dreams in death's loud

compass; and turn ourselves away, and sing of the beauty and the age of destructive dreams.

As we descend the stairs of our old apartment, letting go of memories acquired since birth;

and distancing ourselves from each other; I bend my hat while crying; I break a glass and

see through the prisms of its structure, how the lenses make for melting into a slow pulse

And the pheromones extracted from the skin ; and how they dance upon the surface of the wind;

Our pulse combined with the death of God, as well as secret science; enough to foretell the

old ways from the new; enough to send off reason's sins into a retroactive chemical explosion

You plant your lips on mine; but I can't afford this level of attraction; but I do,

And I give in to you. The cold stare of the furnace, unlit ; and without any heat to bend the

lengths of reality's exposure; let's light ourselves with heat; here, in the forgotten tombs

of death, where memory collapses and the bite of reality stings; such pain!

So hold me, against these bars of truth; and do not let me go, until I am naked and exposed

to you; do not let me go, until I've given you the whole of your desires; and then take a grain

or two more, for old time's sake; and I will bleed out upon the floor with my disease

Holding onto the token of a past life, without love or regret; without much pain and suffering

And I'll steer into your refinery; and make a pact with the devil to watch me wilt and bend,

be broken and capture the incitement of the crowds; and they will laugh as I go under,

as I make my bed with death; and rise, a willing serpent of the Lord.

With lovers, as they quarrel, and as they migrate to separate corners of the earth;

in our expanse of time, we've cradles and we've cared for one another's dreams;

So open the ocean, and let the house flood; here maybe we can find a sentence of

Permission, maybe we will find our lives in ruins; and we can take the reigns to some

other form of expression; perhaps we'll find a bit of steel to carry on our transgressions

And migrate into some new, exotic path together; where we can live like lovers still;

So much rain comes, in the evening before we burst the boundary lines; so many tears fall,

as we make due with what we have restored; and as the earth opens up to swallow us,

within our home, our shelter from this fantasy of youth; there's no more love left

To bring us into line, and carry us on into the fiery sky; every last drop of blood

Has been spent, opening the doorway to this collage of dreams. And in the face of death,

I scream, and I dance; and there's a bitter pill I've taken to ease my passing; so fare

well, my love; and let this distance between us spill out into the morning sun,

So it may laugh as we cry; and set the example of the midday song; even after everything,

I still hold onto the idea that we could love again, and be saved through the fire of our

breath; take down the cradle and purge ourselves of everything we've cherished; and make

room for youth's entertainment; we can salvage the storehouse; and make things right.

Throughout our wedding days, while you remained my morning star; and shone with pure and

violent light against my face, at times I couldn't offer you my love; at times it was too

much to ask to sing you off to sleep, but I resisted the straight and narrow path

And for you, I placed myself in the bathtub; to make markings on the walls while I sang

But couldn't come when you called, because at first light; I was frightened of the pages

of this book; so I took it inside, and wrote my own aesthetic version; I synchronized

my mind with its calm, appealing grace; and as we wore thin our makeup; and began to

Steal each other's clothes, like sisters; like mother and daughter; I gave you my own

And as we walked through the candle shop; smelling all the pieces I would want you to

buy for me, and showing you the price tags on the underneaths; I would melt these for you;

I'd have taken them home and given them in offering, for our pleasure I would burn

And now, while we lay burning in the sun; beneath the great hot sun; on our towels,

With the essence of perfume and tanning lotion; and death. I rise to greet you in the sand,

to compliment your swimsuit and how it fits you so perfectly, and I raise up my glass;

Everything shatters in the end.

And there is no state or station to hold us in together; there's only time, and passing;

and while all things pass through, we must not hold on to those closest to us; because

in the end; there is no permanency of being; it is a deception and a lie; causality

And consumption of our split before the fall; and the death of everything transpires.

From the valley by the sea, I take you in; and hold you, blessed by the comfort of my shoulder,

you unravel; speaking words of dignity and light surreptitious sounds, as I go down into the

water's edge and take my time submerging; there is an elegant flow here, in this place

To make our home; to take our breath away, and shadow the unknown with speech; lies longing

To be freed from the tongue; her essence known as purity corrupts the stars above us; I find

my faith in God here, among the waters and the sand; and for a fraction of a moment I see the

rhythm of the night played out upon your flesh; for dozing and estranged stars, I wonder why

Your curves could hold the symphony of reality's luster; and why the angels' dew holds Heaven

In a teardrop of bliss; cold winds stir, here at the edge of the earth, and as we pass into

new knowledge and the breath of life; there's some new god walking on the waters; in this crisp

cold air, stirring my loins up with the body of my desires; and yet I pass through the waters

Unscathed, with disappointment leaking in through my hands; the body stirs but I, my soul regrets

And the pinnacle of my day is this regression, into sins' past lurking amusement; as it pertains

to dreams and memory alike, soft petals hung to dry amid the morning light; you take me in your arms,

And I find the comfort of your shoulder the perfect drop of Heaven to hold onto; and as we walk

plainly through the eye of God; and see more clearly why we were meant to overshadow our own youth;

I drink the distance here between us; this void; and breathe in the succulent taste of unconscious thought.

The beauty of a nail ripped through flesh; the beauty of a foreign object gouged through

the eyes of a youth too young to realize what lies in truth manifest through reason's sin

And we captivate the audience with spurs of thunder and peeling lights across the stage;

There's no reunion of angelic wants and desires left within our gates; each plain sentence

poured out through a cup of ceremony's stylistic curves; the heavy creme sentenced to the

top; while you make me feel young again, your laughter stirs me up and drenches me with

Blood, rushing to my head and to my heart; on silent days when the wind is still, I see you

Matched in every way with me; and when our dress is set in stone, in the rebellious undertones

I wash myself clean of you; for my decay leaves the suffering of youth behind; and my ambition

turns a blind eye to the charity of our unremembered holiday; still we creep through our

Malicious tithings; and we rake in the dissonant sounds of our ancestry; and we pull swords

Against each other's throats, humming the tune of the Almighty's paradise song; while surrounded

by the host of demons we once said grace for; and in the company of saints whose flesh we tore

off in symbolic supper, and had communion with; each living thing a reminder of our separate seas

Washing off our feet, and placing at odds our incomplete discovery of life's involvement.

In this vast sea of repentant fears, and anger's work; when you were but a child and I was

your elder; we set foot inside a boat, two stories: one of our collapse and the other of

our rising faith; where we set foot was too shoddy a construction to replace with the threat

Of overturning; but we made due, and we sailed our ship through shallow waters as the sirens

Came to life; and on the shores of their foul pitch, we sprang our leak; and held tight to

one another as the ship turned over; and crashed into the rocks, and as our desires edged

into deep passionate love; we made a pact with the devil, to this day onward; we have caused

A great divide in heaven, as the older and the younger of us has turned; and spread our wings

More closely to the sun than any other creature; with you, I'm left feeling alone and shared

among the many; some whore, or some enlightened fraud stripped bare; and to you the ocean makes

its due waves, and they lap against the shallow edge where we once planted feet

Parallels in dreams and shadows, frosting swollen on the cake of our marriage; our wedding night

Bestowed on us a sea of serenity; and to this iron cast, I make my peace; the semblance of a god;

set in metal, and purchased for the price of our endearment to one another; and we give offerings

and thanks to this unholy sculpture set in metal; rising to its form and asking its forgiveness

What other God is there; who hears our prayers, and comes to offer comfort in the night's wash

Souls may bleed, but the irony of the dead is cast off; so let me be your shelter, that we may

purge the stain of sin from out our wombs; and may bleed freely among the stars.

Within the shelter of my sanity, I disregard the truth and offer lies for my consumption;

I live in fantasy, despite the regulation of our lives; the little things which bring us back

so that we may not drift too far; I live in love's great tangled mess of hair

Spinning on the wheels of fortune and insanity, and though I ride; I recognize these failures

And sanctify myself in a bit of truth; daring to identify as master before the slaves of love,

I'm a quiet girl; breathing in backwards in accordance with the efforts to unveil my life's

work; I live in shadows, despite the only plain truths coming out of my mouth are blasphemies

I work at being hard to understand; while in a fraction of a moment gone past; nothing changes,

Except perhaps the color of my eyes; these stay hidden and remiss of beauty's density; I swallow

my sins and keep them in my bowels where they belong; exposing them in the darkness of my cavity,

And we buy bread and wine, and repent against our greater sins; while you and I smile,

Missing each the other's lustful appetite; causality and corruption stirs in my mind, and in yours;

so that we may be remembered as the other sinner, the one which was told of in the past tense;

eating on the one hand, the holy sacrament to God; and on the other hand, the sinner's delight

While we make love beneath the apple tree, in the center of all God's gravity; each denying nothing

to the other's wants; we open up our shelves with The Holy Bible tucked inside; and I read you my

favorite passages while you adore my naked body and wash it with your tears of joy and ecstasy;

"What's missing is the baptist," I say, and we surrender ourselves to the sea.

I breathe you in piecewise, and let your skin tantalize my tongue; for all the remembered

faces you have struck within the dark, I see through miles of anticipation and let laugh;

It wouldn't be enough to see you smoldering in the darkness of my mind, your fire ready

To consume my flesh with lust's desire, there has to be something more than the touch of your

skin, feeding me; what white lights brightly regard our cistern, where we keep our fluids

clean, my body and your blood; and the sins staining our sheets, what well will keep us

Reminiscing of the broken flood walls, and the boundary separating life from death;

You hold your hand even with the ground, while I let fly my own; as if on wings, to trumpet

through the marsh and set my body alight; with magic, but magic doesn't last; and neither

do words, yet they are all we have to keep each other warm; warm words and dirty fantasies

Break the candle into pieces, and throw it in the fire; let the body melt; let it burn

While so much of lies are spent, cradling the unknown flask of death; asking those forgiven

to hold on, and stay in pieces spent for the reproduction of this masterpiece; an ancient

grave, tended by the guard; so we may spill ourselves into the pool and recreate its function

Wild storms sing their evanescent charm; feelings stray, and magic reproduces our desire

And while the furniture may make a lightning scar upon this room's decision points; we take

care to leave what we have worn; our light and see-through robes; scattered on the floor.

We sentence ourselves to the truth; and unencumbering lies, as they may migrate with the flock;

and the burden of the handsome dove lies solely on your back, I wear our rings of revolutionary

dreams; and I partake of the dinner you have set for the both of us; in this lounge, beneath the

Revolving sun; where shadows loom like quiet oceans, and the fish play games in the fair waters

I speak of sin; and you let out your quiet guise of patience, but I know what you're thinking of,

I know this game all too well; when I speak of the illiterate and the blind eye of a text;

you crave contentment, and belittle my frustrations; each closing of a door becomes obsession;

And I rise to the center of the table; and speak loudly enough; this is what you'll hear from me

We patch the mess with quiet silence; and you go on staring at me, like what we have adored was

truly faith in action; while I consume your herbs, and taste your biscuits with their gravy;

There never was any hope for us to find some common union; save this God, and His alignment;

I pray another prayer for our relationship; while I drink what's left of your cup, raising it up

to the sky before I do; we keep to ourselves except in our frustrations; and here you are,

dining with me beneath the old oak; thigh pressed in on thigh; as we exchange looks

And as we tire; and as we break the last of bread; I scatter my pieces to the wind;

And you grow tired of me at last.

What true life can offer, is the blessing of our breath and summer's sunlight through

the window panes; our hopes and our dreams and aspirations lie with some other realm;

Fantasy thrives when we collect our passage; and take the plunge outside of life's

Pubescent skin; we purge ourselves of our infatuation and thrive in the becoming of death;

these sentiments are shared now and forever among the sainted; where we lose hope, and become

poor in spirit; therein lies the most coveted of truths; I once was held prisoner against

My will; disempowered against the freedom's will to collapse under the pressures of my life;

And then I bled myself, I scratched out the venom holding me inside; pure blood, for all

the good it did me; even after, there was attachment to my sin; I carried it deep inside me,

without a want to let it out again; and chimed the bells of insanity's ring

With so much pain nestled in the ribs; so much heartache, I divided truth with a symphony

Of lies; and braved this new world, and its plagues; its habitation beneath the sunlit sky;

resting my hands on a woman, carving her shape inside my skull; the perfect match for me,

she was the perfect angel; ready to become my muse, but seasons last only a little while;

And as the night grew thin, I chose another; and I chose yet another for my sinless stain

Trying to ring the bell of my creation through her nostrils and her cheek bones; through her

thighs, and everything that made her a woman; and as she held her fire; and stone held its

shape, for a moment; so she lasted but a moment and was gone; my little flame.

Throwing sand into the wind, like throwing water down into the basin; we'll keep our fill

of deceit and treachery, hold fast to what they come in; and surpass the ancients when all

is said and done; we'll walk heavy and face the gods one day, when youth no longer sings

The antique lullaby of fasting and decay; the purpose of our withered words as they lie

Dormant on the skin; and in your soured face, I long for the embrace of angels' song;

to make you laugh and cry, and to forget this silent chord that's been struck into your

heart; let's make a sea of emotion and drown you in it; as I drown myself while the widows

Fare me well; there is hopelessness here, among the idols; among the cave-dwellers' gods

And all should be as it is; we'll set a sacrificial feast for them; and play within the

chalk lines, as it should be known; to be contained is God's rule; we all must follow,

there is no place in Heaven or on Earth for the allotment of sin such as this

With a dark premise, let us divide the bed sheets; you have your half, and I will save the rest

What we endure above the laws of God will be remembered, so as we sin; and as the curtain

draws in against our flesh; we'll need to expose ourselves and our nudity, and surrender

To the eye of God;

And we'll bake bread; and sing in the choir of the birds as they pass through our way;

and take to eat the fruit from the garden, it is good; for God made all things pure;

Let's break our skin, and let the blood impurify our drinks; and we'll exchange cups;

so that my sins become your sins, and likewise; and we will stain our mouths with it.

You drank a cup of toxic liquid, cheating me of the only love I ever knew; and death consumed us

both; and as the shadows tore into my flesh, and made a mockery of love, I couldn't handle this

address, I left what was holy for what was a potential sin; and hurried up with my makeup

Every hour past, I've left a trail of blood; leading to your bed

And while these perfect cuffs held me, against my will to life's ensemble; I bore your sin

against my skin, it pierced my heart and never let me let you go; you've passed on, yet you

remain inside of me; the hurried guilt that I could not make you stay; and the worry that

If I had interfered, what death would you live within; while warming your hands in the fire

So I let you keep within me, to stay warm a while longer; while within me, the temperature is

bitter cold; and dust lies dormant on the sill, where I peek out into the showers of the night,

The crows are in the yard, soaking up the moisture; cawing on occasion; cawing for you

You held me, when I was falling; when the devil took me in the night to steal me from my dreams;

and we made love that night, in the falling of the rain; in torture's hour you stepped within

my mind and slew some form of Satan, and held his head high; against a pane of glass

While I tried my best to keep the gods at bay; and I tried to hold our covenant in glass

It's been forty hours past, and forty years; since we spoke of Heaven and of Hell; and while

the groom was ready, I chose you to be my wife; but it can't last forever (nothing does).

To swallow, and to purge the stain of death; her pills for our descent; to break

the water's tension, and to breathe again within the shallows of the pool; I hold you

as an unrelated star; to outshine me in everything we do; except this. I will stay

My hand at blaspheming the name of my delights; and my longings, and my fire

And she is you; you are one and the same woman; and where there is laughter, or crying;

where death has touched with her sword; there are you, clawing to be let into me;

and as the sun sets beyond, in the horizon's pool; there I will carry you one day;

Into the western lands; where our drink will be mixed with the blood of angels

And into her sight, I'll claim a spot of land; some triumph for the gods to sever,

into these lights of blinding spirit; we'll set our bodies down to rest, within the

fire; and we'll make eternal love our question that only God can answer with our bodies

And with our bodies, we'll make love eternal through the sun's conditioned rays.

I count the ways to tell you sweet goodnights; and as I stray from your empathetic point

of intersection, I find the rays of light bleeding through my window pane; and I believe

there's something more than magic to this light mood lingering on the air;

There is a dusting of the earth; which settles down in age, and compliance gives her a name

While bringing boughs down unto the earth; while raising up the sky upon its hinges; there

is a cousin of mine, lapping up the sunlike rays of the moon; wishing to be burned by their

intoxicating shell; and I cannot divine my place in Heaven or on Earth; I think I lie someplace

Inbetween worlds; where magic cannot touch, and Hell has the only glorified power to scathe me

Dreadful dreams in the divine spaces of the spheres; golden eyes measure the landscape and its

corruption, and even I go down below and seek a store of silence; letting go of death's great

hunger for the duration of my stay; so it is with politics and emotional facades;

Lies like getting used; and death corrupts the living, we feed on an isolation of our space

The birds sing prettily enough for lands and kingdoms to compare, and the rose is ripe with luster;

should we not obtain a bit of life's reserve, and capture it in this great star above us; let it

Shine with the fortitude of some great beast; alive in the depths of a foul and distant moon;

arise and corrupt the sainted ones, and let the spiritual divide take place among Heaven's chosen

Rest assured, there is no lack of dreams to take us all into the valley of the unknown forest

Lie low, sweet angel; where death will hold you closely; and sin's comparison never cease.

What we never even wished for, and what came to be; the shock of everything, the world turns and in season

all things come to new light; how hard was it to acknowledge me when we were going out beyond the veil;

to see my right hand placed within your hand; or see my flesh burning with the desire that you hold me as

Someone who is adored; cared for, and loved; there is no time any longer; there is no place left in me

For shattered dreams and ill contempt reasons for coming home to this foul mood any longer; I'll dress up

as the sun in shining colors; and watch you as you watch me, with a smile I'll let go of the past and drink

a toast to this new god who has --

The thought was left unspoken, and the words laid to ashes in the fire; it's how we come into death,

By being laid down, against our will sometimes; into the darkness of the ever after; and even in death there is

likely a stain, a setting up of sin to test the resolute ; I believe that time is now, at times; and want to

end my life; before it continues on another step; Perhaps tonight, love; perhaps tonight, poison in a glass

And down it goes; death is so easy and trivial a matter to entertain; for those willing to entertain death;

The mind is fractured and incomplete in parts, like ripped and wrinkled tin foil; with the shiny side out,

each cusp and turn; and edge makes a score with Satan; this language is that of an old-timer's game;

What dress there is, was spent before the silver was shown; and as it is, I hold in my hands the hem;

of my perfect wedding gown; and this for evening's sundown, when I make the decision to tie the knot

with death; in her house, and dream the battery of sins for which my fortune turned, so sour.

You gave your fortunes away to the wrong woman, and as I plan my survival; to let go of you

and piece together again what dreams I've made in the past; my longings and my aroused indignity;

my shame; I place a patchwork garden at the bottom of your steps, and say to you, "do not cross,"

And in this sweltering heat, between us; I should go to find a better place to live, somewhere

Where desires can be fulfilled and the stark vicinity of prayer may be left up to contemplation,

somewhere to roam, when night fills the sky and ashes fall; surrounding me with the bright reflection

of death; for now, we'll walk side-by-side into the blue moon's empathic gaze; holding out for clear

Destruction; as it comes, and as the world begins to fade away; every tantalizing thought stripped

Into the bare bones of existence; dirt and ash; mud, and the rock-solid fields we once played within,

and we'll rise within the sea; as the tide rises to swallow us, making love in the heated pool of death;

As early as we come, the serpent will come also; to take our shields, to take what little bit of love

We've left; so sing to the mountains, and sing to the sea; sing to Heaven, and what hollows can take us

under the sea and swallow us; and while fortune bends to breaking; we can come and plead with God

For the rest of our days, spear out our survival in the quiets of this fantasy

It isn't any rest, or sleep I feel for you; there's a disquiet and a strain of guilty pleasure

in seeking out your lustful play; but tonight I leave you here, on your doorstep; without a measure

of my sinful memory, merely a gaze and a wonder for why I've chosen today.

Spokes snapping in a dark room, with no clear exit path; the wheel continues on, while my mind turns;

and so it embodies my voice, this plentitude of nothingness; and the wheel continues on; unhindered

by the small movements which I make, there is no chamber door; just heavy walls, constructed before

Time existed; it's a place eternal in the minds of men and beasts; a shower of self-consciousness

We are aware, and we are able to pick up the spear and throw it through the fire and burn it into

ashes; in the deep hollow of the heart. Pick me up, I'm falling through the Sieve of Eratosthenes;

as destiny has designed, who will be proof of number; who will fail to pass this test of sin,

And I regret my life; and I regret my failings; first to see the answer, then to quantify

And while we walk through this valley of dust and ash; I resume the building of the temple;

holding out my hands to pick up the bricks of the mire, with sludge and flame holding them together,

it's a distant rung built of cellophane and shattered glass shards; a kind of microphone stretched

Between the skins of the plastic wrapping; so we may pick up the sounds of strangers and gods

Walking through the remains of what was once a beautiful city made of gold; now it's dust and ash,

and mud; but it can be rebuilt; I assure you, innocence can be restored.

Innocence can be restored.

Hours pass in wanting, and in waiting for the seasons to change; and in your eyes, I feel a bit

of grace; sent down through the stars, and into the deepest black of night; where I collect my

thoughts and dreams, and sinful fantasies; you complete me. With your long, dark hair

Weeping over you; and with your distant dreams which I can't crack the code for

I want to take you in my hands, and give you kisses; to ease your suffering and stir your curiosity;

to sentence you to die the death I've always dreamed would so complete you. To give in to your

desires, and let them bury me; we fly, through the mist on the horizon, and we wait out the night

Ruptured by the stars' gazing on; pierced by their luminescence; and drowned in the sea's overwhelming

Reach; this picturesque world, as we float above the clouds; trying not to drown in our bath of tears,

while holding onto one another's hand; so we could stay afloat through the deep dissolving of our love's

quiet passion; so long gone from life's insipid snares; so we escape through the tunnels of emotion's

Flare, and ride on the wings of the gods; on ecstasy's trail through the sink of death

One woman to another, we seize the scepter of the ancients and proclaim ourselves as queens of the

underworld; we bathe in our sins, and in our complaints we hold onto dreams as we evolve, and fortune

sings the hymnal we have composed for our beloved; and we wait for her to come through the hole

From beneath the earth, to dry our tears and place on us a crown; we twins.

Never before have I desired you more than I do here, at the edge of death; waiting to be consumed,

and in this hollow bereft of life's gifts, I take from you your heart; the diamond necklace you wore

throughout all our existence, and I transpose my own good luck charm; the bitter sweet smell of

Death's body, mixed with myrrh and ash; baked with fire from the cinders of our old home.

The duty of the stars, to drive the night into some surreal bath of beauty; and to create a structure

to climb through Heaven's grasp; we walk wantingly for the rift to spread its width and place its

flaccid skin upon our breasts; too narrow a divide for the stiff rings to swallow us in parallel;

Hopeless benefits drive the here and after; sour samples swallowed in the thickening of the throat

Two nice and parallel redemptions, one bathed in the cold, hypnotic ice water of the holy temple;

the other purged by fire, great rings placed about the breast; leaving scars and blisters in the shape

of God's descendants; I leave you with this, the influence of the saints on the remainders of the fold,

Like you left me with child; wandering through the snow, and seeking any kind of shelter I could find;

The flock gathers, and the fortunes of our dreams left bare; we gave all our remainder to our sins,

with no life left besides repentance, and the exorcism of our pasts; the execution of our child;

Will we live in love's regress, will we play a fool; not comforted in the night, not warm and cozy

But set on by the substance of the demons, set on by fire and earth; and ash, twisted by Satan's spell;

upheaved with the momentum of a falling star; there is no drought here; no fallen ash, just the rest

and the remainder of our death; as multiplied throughout the heavens; one grasp and another shout

We recognize the truth of all what will be; and for this, revise our history to remark

The pages of ages past; have been told before and once or twice with some factual inference of the gods,

but there are pages unmarked, or torn out; there's fire set to books, words are an illusory detail;

and fiction's silent passages regain a measure of their glory through God's becoming in the days of present tense.

It's a history I can't recall, the depths of silence as they reached my voice; and stung,

while you lay there in the waters, wishing me well; and I could hear the carpet, burning

my face and my eyes; and I could no longer see clear enough to make out the beginnings

Of youth; I wanted to wash it all away, be cleansed by your deep blue waters

So I sank beneath the surface; and let my mind cool, the chill air of peppermint no longer

tasteful to me; I drowned in a bath of blood and let the foul air thicken above me, to drive

the evil spirits away, I washed the skin clean of any tears; and wrapped myself in towels

You cannot disregard my faithful eyes; that teared up when the walls began to close in

But to this, I remember pain; and I remember the cold night's wind racing overhead;

the bath, in silence strayed my thoughts to nightmares, and dissonant collections of earthly

desires; my pain ran through me; even now, it stings my throat; but now I have healed

Through the embassy of love's last pleading wisp of breath; I've healed, and I've succumbed

To the spaciousness of the stars' delight, and I've purged some of my demons, into the dark

abyss; where I once faced to feed, and I dry my eyes sparingly; in hopes of staying clean,

even when the wind picks up, I steady myself against the breeze, with her body at my fore

And though she closes the gap, there is a hole within me; churning the soft matter of the stars

For every spell of darkness derived; there is a canopy of truth to bleed through it;

and as I make amends with death, with Heaven's journey; I take my breath, the long-lasting

inhalation of life's defiant curiosity; and stay my hand at the taking of my own existence.

I caught the flu when you were gone away at sea; and I undid my shirt and let the cold take me,

while youth sunk down to the bottom of the well, and I returned unfit for Heaven or for Hell;

Take me to some other place, take me to the river Euphrates; and cast me in, as a stone

And dress me in the poison ivy's wreath, paint my nails scarlet; and seize me as the ship goes

down, pluck me out of the river, and cast a crown of thorns upon my head; and I will bite

and I will gnash my teeth against a stone, forever to be yours and forever alone;

Place your hand on me, little girl; and dress me in pink and azure gowns; we'll let them flow

Like the sea, to the bottom of the earth, to Hell; so take me down to the river and cast me in;

there I'll find some measure of my youth, to tease out of the waters; and there in the waters,

I'll sip a cup or two of young blood, stolen from my wife; her scent and her life

And the impression that she's made upon my grave; I'll cast her in beside me, two women

Undressed and naked, writhing in the water's edge; flowing out into the sea, two dead souls;

captivated by the presence of their beginnings, one ivy string, positioned between them

Here and now, our measure is that of a solid cup of ice; so pure as to distill the water it is

placed within, now I go through the seasons of our company; drifting into the night, into ashes

We melt within the hands of God; and we become lighter than a feather, as if God would ever

Touch the minds of men, but we pursue Him regardless; even as we drown through the waters of death;

we oscillate and sing our hymnal and repent our evil ways; is it enough to have God's sympathy,

And the devil's desires; or should there be a rising from the bottom, to keep the waters pure.

No new tales to tell; just the bleeding in the mire, the same old story told a thousand ways;

as if there were some measure of enlightenment through poetry's existence, as if there were

some inspirational sound to cover all the meanings in the mind's diluted space

A catalyst; a muse, for contemplating deeper thoughts and dreams

A measure of some inconsistent truth, lying dead and buried beneath the subconscious mind;

I need to feel for her, and let her emotional wash pass through me; drown me in her substance,

and I'll come clean; maybe then there will be a hint of happiness and serenity;

To watch the angels fall through summer's silence, and to watch the devil's passage into stars

Blind change, without the need for repentance or forgiveness, as night rolls on with thundrous

waves, ready to burst over me; so love desires this craving of the heart; and in our passions,

we wail like dissonant sirens, waiting for the ships to pass us by; so we may sing our hymn

Even now, I see her face clear enough; and her breasts, obscured by the closure of a cloth

Maybe Autumn's quiet rage will fester through my skin; and leave me blind to passion's destructive

urges; maybe then, I'll see the face of God and capture all the necessary sin to carry out my

instruction; to be thoughtful, to be bland; to be the child of God like she had said she was

Such an indiscrete pairing of the temple to its wasteland; where mothers and daughters die alike

I face my fears, and growing older; I captivate my own internal structure, ready for the rebirth,

I dive into the pool of eternal youth; while growing beautiful as a diamond with its facets bared;

my naked skin lies empty of love; empty of innocence; a hollow structure bared for the world to see.

Within the boundaries of our states, the lines separating you and me from our embrace;

the capitals of the world, collaged with paper and glue on maps, distinct metaphors,

each with their own flag, their own animal; their own geography, written in the contours

And I accept our fate; as fate is held out for us to take, and I eat mine up with soured milk

Exposing myself to you, through squinted eyes; there is a place where Heaven lies unobstructed;

and Hell resolves to migrate past the storm, some see it and believe, while others turn a blind

eye to religious fanaticism; while others yet see in there some metaphor for holding shapes of

Dreams, undiluted and pure; each story contained becomes a lucid bit of consciousness

When the keep is wrapped in linens, and the sentence is pure gold; as it retains a feel of

drainage in the ditch of purification; I want to show you where I was this past holiday;

let you feel your way through my intentions; and to stow away the better part of youth

And keep it safe, for your eyes only; while in the sun, I'll wear my weathered form

Love contains within itself a small ring of resemblance to our past; while the azure sky

bleeds, in principle with our belonging to the surface of our dreams; wild and wet

fantasies, implied by truths unspoken; we've become corrupted or we've always been

So as I leave you here, in the valley of my stains; with clothes worn through with blood

Carry me out into the crossroads, and leave me there; for dead. I'll pick up the pieces

of my own life, and leave you with what has transpired; these scars you will remember.

Our wild collage, bathed in blood; in the semblance of some God we've never heard of, it takes

two to create such a masterpiece; it takes the whole union of every being known to man;

and in this disquieting summer, where peace collects like the rain in form above the canopy,

In pools of softly spoken dreams; I still think about the weather, and the lightning storms

And how they wore out their complaints against the earth; and there was a great shadow once,

climbing to the sky with dusty claws; it fed on the innocence of girls not come of age;

While we tried our best to preserve them, and keep them whole; it devoured every single child

And to the heavens, it cried its blasphemies until a woman stuck it in its throat; she bore

him a child, and named it God, while the angels watched on in amazement; the seven-headed beast

Through which each man was marked as unclean; and each and every woman bore his name

Let the innocence go unmolested, and let the faith in God preserve us;

but there wasn't time for prayers, and Satan's serpent stung as many as who would call

upon the blanket of the Lord; history is a sour milk, digested among the worshipers of God.

All quiet on the surface, with a tension in the water; before we breath and break the skin;

let us decide who will go first. I'll rip through the boundaries of your flesh like a plague,

unearthing every discolored stain; with my silk bandage, I'll heal your wounds again

It isn't in the water where we make our shifting plates; it's in the noise of our breath

Sweet air, speak to me in collage works; in foreign matter and substances, I'll sweep you

under the rug, into the pairing of our skins; and you will become the life of me; another

rooted mechanism to hold onto, a devout strand of recognition to cover myself with

Roll across the meadow, and dive into the pool; where your sins await you with their

Blasphemies tied up at angles, and stored in boxes beneath the concrete waves; stinted

hours turn to nights and fall between seasons; while I hold you under, watching you breath

fade away; and I draw off your clothes in your unconsciousness; and look at you

My eyes wandering, my mouth aroused; my head and consciousness sedated by your still

Beauty; is in my eyes.

And there's a false prophet speaking blasphemies when the sun arises; and at the steps to

Heaven's gate, I see God's face leering after me, when can we commit me again to keep my

sanity in check; let's round up our gods and place them in a basket; a tisket, a tasket.

Alive, beneath an alabaster sky; which sends down angels from above, and in their fury and their

rage remembered; I stifle a smile, how this whole world shifts aesthetic because of a child;

Bearing fruit, and baring blasphemies; I see their conditioned skins and their sentiments

While I, in my attire; welcome this news with open arms, as she proceeds from out of my womb;

the closed doors to Hell, where Hades has dominion; and my breasts suckle her as she remembers

who she was before the fall, and in this night when God conceived our worries and our delights

And Zeus strayed from his perch

Let all the sea glance over its shoulders, and let Abaddon wait; because of this memorial moment,

taking shape beneath my flesh; and in the rock solid fragments of my heart, I see my whole life

discolored and erupted into stars' formations; and I drink, although it is forbidden that I do

Below me, Heaven is split; and the surging of its gates tears the fabric of time

Let loose from the magnificence of what might have been conceived; if God had worked a miracle

within me; but only Satan's residue completes my loins, and the surgery of myself has been

transcended; and only unto God could I erupt this nuclear equation; the sentence of myself

Below, are fragments of a world turned dry and dissolute; unsolvable sadistic forms

While in the upturned period of my transcendent fate, I blow the body upward toward the surface;

and in this body, I bleed; and my soul shudders, and slivers of my soul replace the counting

of the stars; while I lay here, irresolute with all my failures and my unfortunate schism of divide.

To separate the silence, I need your fleshy aesthetic form to fill out the opens spaces of my lies;

to complete this causeway, I need some time to justify my worth; through the needle's angle; through

rebirth blessed by God; and to your womanly eyes, I call out judgment, that you may help me fly

Each time passed through the needle's eye becomes a cure for lepresy and as the devout hasten

To bring about the day of judgment; I worry that this is all too clear a facade for raining down

death upon a sinful nation; where were you, love; when the sky began to fall, save me now;

my body is broken and my mind has turned in disarray; unto insanity's last leg of decay

Even now, there's the blood of some dead ambassador moistening my lips; and the sound of gunshots

(Can you hear them too; or is it just me)

One stood still, while the other passed me by; and I was somewhere in the middle between both;

and as for the ferris wheel, it turned end over end and who knew which way was up; but the sky

remains still while we watch it go around, I think Heaven and Hell must be something like this.
