StUCK PhLEGM

In this crimson game
no one can hear
with the styrofoam dicks
shoved up their ears

The melodies bleeding
from the songs they were
trained to slash
the unborn phlegm
nested in a bed of
talcum scented flesh
conjuring up the blues in Memphis
of sleepless nights spattering
beer and smoke
and the idiotic self-assurance
that has made me a failure.

No other can sing
the way I can't
our obfuscated sins
the raison d'etre comme ca
gasping for a spray of color
to move
or the mistakes I've made
to perish
as everything else has

You stained
my last playing card

I can't move.

Ignoring them play

Embedded
in the crinkled glow of a loss
the jagged waves drew their mortal disease
like the promises I gag about
in those raveled thorned threads
constricting my smile

Self-fragmented, and

deceased
I hover by the eyelid
My stitched toes neglecting the touch from below
and the puppet fades
through the caked makeup
smelling like the
urine
pasted in my lips.

But the eyelid shall rip, I am sure
leaving these sordid ideas drooling out from its
vacuous hole,
its foul shine a
mad encounter,
like masturbation in an unknown space.

It´s all gone, like I
and certainty has ceased along with the velcro kisses
my bed a wet cup for tears
and cum
and wax
from sinking candles
their flames a fucking cliché I prefer to hate.

All my aspirations have slowly shriveled
into gruesome operative slivers
of mascara gunk and
bottled medicine
their lucid containers more
attractive than effective.

Caged in this state of silence
the spite never sleeps
but circles in search of the poison
it feeds.

Nothing is the same.

a crumpled feather
collapsing in space
its pungent fragility
secreting down my nostrils
crashing like a wave against the
curve of my own frown.

Nothing moves.


Where am I

MAGNET

We slept
with that mortal furrow between our beaks
chanting tales of mirth to repress in our wake
with the gleaming burst of a tear,
that oh so foul deluge towering above our necks
bringing the lethargic choking
of my days gone by.

Inevitably, I gravitate towards the sinful,
seducing the harrowing laces of
graceful spite and spit

A proficient drama slut
opening the legs to every
promise of pain that erects
before any orifice of hope.

You spoke of the danger
you so dearly embraced
and the parallels to cinema tragedy
(I have heard this before,
an impulsive like you who
conjured up the Romeo and Juliet cliché
as my alcohol breath desiccated the torrential weeping )
Yes; I have heard about romanticizing tragedy
and I yet kept silent
incase you should
flee
from my naughty mania for self-infliction.

I now indulge in the possibilities of pain:
the pounding solitude perched upon the eyes,
the screeching aches between my legs,
the fears of betrayal and the hideousness
of my own temptations,
the numbing edge of time,
and that smile I shall never conceive.

until I disappear

I may shrink
for you

slowly waning
from the hard want
between your legs
Fading with every sunrise
and the voices in your night drinks

I may shrivel into a nine-letter-name
you'll recall with the mail
for you could become far less persistent
than with the rolled cigaretes you
recycle from the ashtray
and me less tangible than
the days on a calendar.

I may dissolve like your
photography under shampoo
the colors placidly defaced by
that striking pink I adore to
excite over.

it will all have been
a mythological spring
where vanity dictates
I pretend it was not real
our restleless urge
for one another travelling
up our spines
culminating in this unbearable
distance I can only reproach
for depriving me
of the sole thing I had
sought all my life.