Ravenous

Far away from any city
There is but cloth and blood

Under no pretension
But release of such
Orgasmic silence
In being isolated

No rest for the wicked
No comfortable place

Yet so together
The world turns
Without us and
Time flies like

Scavengers
Circling their prey

A domineering call
Over night and day

Radio waves crash unto coast
Forward unto dusk
And burning it all
So drastically away

There is but blood
On the beach

But sand and our feet
But stars we can see

Supernovae all we can hear
Bone conducted
For we have no ears
As that sense has left us

It’s more about what
Scavenger eyes spy

What their feathers feel
What hollow bones sing
As they compress
And torque

So much music
In our bodies
As we
Listen to

Bloodful iron run
And raven suns

Making our
Senseless bodies
Under silent
Mechanisms release

Senseless silence an
Overwhelming way to see

Shamen of the Moon

Playing in ecliptics
Under cover
For my lunar lover
Needs tending to

Not another
Moment should
Pass phase before
We do what we do

How stellar
How hungry
Maybe a mess
But I do it for you

Somewhere there’s a
Cannibalistic craving
That this primal urge
Is star-sated from

What time gated off
Before paths crossed
And worlds aligned
And meteors rained

Carve unto me
Sigils and wards
To protect me
Against evil eyes

Lest I forget
The forces I serve
For you are a witch
And I a warlock

The same strings
That wring me
Are the ones that
Look to bend you

And both desires
Seek to bend me
And with hexes aplenty
I shall be carved

Baptized

I can’t even drink
Water
Without thinking
Of you

Pouring through my dreams
Washing away
My fantasies
And making yourself my reality

Cleanse my palette
I don’t want to be left
Without the taste of
Something pure on my lips

Nourish me
Keep me alive
For three days
At a time

When I don’t have anything else
My body will still crave you
And the baptisinal thoughts
You dive my mind in

Carve me up like a canyon
Like a river run through
My badlands, photogenic
You’re my companion

Through the thick and thin
Hell and high water
When the tide sinks cities
I’ll be drowning in all of you

I can’t even drink water
Without thinking of you
Is to say I can’t simply
Live

Without thinking of you

Woven Spirit

Your spirit has
Clung to me after
This morning
Like it never
Wants to leave

Your scent
Of sweet sweat and
Nitroglycerin trapped
Under straps
Of tank tops

Spirit still clings
To me
Threaded down to the
Skin beneath
Clothing

A heart of woe stayed
With the heat
Of punishment sustained
Cooling as it’s constantly
Exhumed

4/20 Confessions

That night was
Different,
For I felt the same void breeze
Once before in a different place,

And I knew that you
Were too like that place:

Different.

Those shores down the line
Coasting shy from sky to sky

To bring us the currents of
That old breeze, carrying
Familiarly new feelings.
Each sensation,

Every single molecule on my
Hands as they grazed yours
Endured a mini apocalypse
Like my skin went nuclear,

And from then was irradiated
To be a clean slate
Upon which you
Claimed me.

And I was happy then
Even before the rockets burst
To be willful to your
Power, your yield

When you stay your hand
And declare, “bombs away!”

Your mercy and care
All rolled into one night.

Rolled like the joints
We would never touch
When offered at the
Restaurant later that night.

Confessionals are always fun
For me
But as we’ve both found out
Sometimes the truth hurts

Is it worth knowing
All the variables
And what they do
And have done?

What effect might that have
On you? On us?

Are we allowed to endure again
And undergo regrowth?
Turning the soil in our hearts
Over again to let gamma rays

Pierce through to the core
Of every shell-shocked nerve.

The truth hurts like nuclear
Bombs on a day destined

To end this way.

We’ve recovered already, driven
By androids, turned by waves
Further down the shoreline
In stories you weren’t a part of.

Let those rockets fly
And christen the world
In explosions as many
Times as it needs to see

Thermobaric mushroom clouds
Collapsing over you and me.

And after that
I want to feel the ground quake,
Volcanos to shake and tear
Apart their heads and shout

Boiling, vociferous magma
Across the sky,
Trailing ash lit by lightning
While thunder follows.

My confession before the
Apocalypse
So your god can see,
And that I may be absolved,

Is that you have always
Had that effect on me.

I have always walked
In the spirit of your words,
Of dust shadows splattered
Across walls by the force

Of light ripping through
The now-charged particles
Of a human body
Rippling with electricity.

This confession is in
Each doomsday you make me
Feel the weight of
In all the best ways

Because I know somehow
You can bring me back
From the dead with a
Touch and a whisper.

So that night while I
Learned about you, I
Began to stifle my fear
Of memory loss,

Instead focusing on saving
Every moment like it was

My last.

Now focused on making those
Thoughts permanent
And desiring destined-like
Rings to appear on fingers,

And to hope that we can
Pull anything we want
From
Thin air.

Your lips, your lips,
Apocalypse.

This is the truth
That I want to endure.

In every moment I can
Think of being my last,
Every bomb, bullet,
Disaster, starvation

Each thinkable end times,
You’re the one I want

To end time with.

Bubble Bomber

Nothing quite like
Bathing with you
In the crumbling bubbles
Of a bomb dissolving

In between what can’t
Literarily be described
As making love
On a bed we didn’t own

Then we got Wendy’s
And you got
A chicken sandwich
And I got it spicy

Whereupon we had
Brunch in that bed,
Clean and carefree
Seemingly and

Watched a show
On netflix
You were the one
That turned me on to

And kissing you
Every moment of the day
Is above and beyond
Something I will cherish

Bog Witch Brew

Before there was meaning
To any good celebrating
We shared sips of coffee
Grounds wet with rose water

Tamped, strained, and shot
Us into a daze of days
That lasted a whole week
Even though we weren’t weak

It was the brew that was
What weeks were made of
What kicked off the morning
And shut down the nights

Like a baton to the shin
It stopped us from flight
And subdued us from fighting
That day’s altering state

Then day was no longer
And it was tomorrow
As the week went on
Like it was so strong

When we bought those potions
Some spillage in the street
Made travelling by hills
Weary at even the notion

How atrocious the skull was
In foam that appeared
At the surface of liquid
Before we drank its veneer

Consuming a concoction
Of bog witch inception
Now we have
The breath of November

Within us

The red rose water
Bitter black coffee
And fragile skulls
Mixed and consumed

Took us in tune
Two months to the future
And moths disturbed
Fluttered with the lights

Of our arrival

Potion’s aftertaste so
Sweet, so savory,
Sanguine if sanguine
Had a taste perceived

Crow’s blood and dark souls
Culled to the mixture
Drank by the cup full
Of kaymak and skulls

Bones break and sinews snap
To the force of futures
As the potion works its
Magic on us consumers

Weeks become weak
Time moves swift
And amber lakes leak
Into rivers

Those rivers unto rivers
That flow into our veins
To make us strong
And to have time detained

Wicked

Burial grounds unearth the ring
On your finger:
A coffin set in red
Crystal rock

As rich in color as
Your bloody knuckles
Before they scarred over.
Walls hurt.

Vibrant as the faux
Eyeliner you’ve painted
On, designed like
Ozymandias still stood tall.

Fastiduous and full of ardor
Like a bog witch
Performing a ritual
Deep in the forest.

Be a shaman to me, resurrect
Whatever it may be
That plagues your mind
And let me see.

I want to be a part of
Your world. Whatever swamps
I must wade through,
I’d love to.

For I can imagine the things
You’ve seen in those soulful
Eyes. What war paint you wear
To make art of a guise.

You’re beautifully wicked,
Hooded like an exile
On the run, casting
All kinds of spirit magic.

Wicked with the crops
You strain through water
And drink to have energy
And commune with the dead,

Wicked with the best
You bring out of me,
Weaving illusions where
Reality alters itself.

So much so I wish I had
Been drinking roses
With you much earlier
Than I ever could.

Yuletide Cyanide

Torpor,
Headaches,
Beadaches,
Stress, and
Snow

Here I lie
Paralyzed
And consumed
By you

Being bruised
And bled
Like I’ve wandered
Into your web

Skin soft like flakes
That fall outside
How it gives to the touch
And how it melts with me

Wrapped up as I’m
In your cocoon
Bandaging me in slik
Spun of cyanide

Bruised neck
Paralyzing my stem
To the core
Of where petal beds bloom

Red like roses
Vulnerable
And thornstress poised
To stoke desire

Rooted in the soil
Of worlds of blankets
The world
We make love upon

Stayed quiet

Of yuletides and spookiness
Of ghosts that creep through
Halls of my home
In the dead of Christmas morning

Arrhythmia

Let slide writ waves on line
Though everyone else
Only hears half-lies
Infinity is our half-life

Chemical
Coastline
Where waves break
And stained glass shines

Ancient lotuses
Covered in hard rime
Radiating photic
Caffiene and dopamine

Green ivy on the
Shoreside redwoods
Turned a silvery
Gunmetal grey

Pogonip in canopies
Lake bath bombs, glittery
Its shape slowly swirling
Through the high leaves

A

Murmur
Palpitation
Irregular
Flutter

Rhythmically
And rhapsody

Shape of the waves
Beating on return
To the same coast
But stained differently