I won’t miss you when you’re dead.

United in defenselessness,
Humiliated by humbleness,
They rest on matted haunches,
Waiting for the sky to fall.

Traded pink cotton candy
For saltwater taffy reveries.
Endured emotional battery
(Slattery so fine,
You’d think he’d paid
Half the fee).

Stay distant,
Denizens of Mars;
Men of the cloth
Might cache the scars.

Please refrain from
Licking flames
Burnt asunder
From yonder boneyard
Down under
(Darling’s taking names)

Your pretty white lies
Taste like pristine salvation,
Drunk from the dipper
Of divine damnation.

Take your lecher-leers,
Plus all my jeers,
And make a paycheck
At the very least.
Bleat-bleat, little sheep.

Your bayonets
Speared him through
Slit his dreams
From sternum to pubis
Wide open
To rot

Chain mail garters
Anchor the still-life
Demi-goddess to
Twisted-ankle trickery;
Snickering sniveling snitches
Cuff chins by sleights.

And I woke up in darkness,
Awash with red light,
As voices unholy
Chorused of my demise.

Pagan’s prayer
Worship the moon
Lunar synthesis
Sun-blind night

To market, to market
To buy a cracked egg…
Home again,
Home again,
Make a slave’s wage.

Other moms
Wear infinity scarves
Over argyle sweaters
And smile when their children
As if to say,
“Kids will be kids.
My Tommy’s not to blame.
Grow a thicker skin.”

Beyond the boneyards,
Our corpses procreate.
Tattered flesh unwinds;
Slinks inside —
Thrumming strings,
Strumming time.
You want to place
Your hand in mine.

A new day arises,
Laundered with the laudanum
Of lavender lethargy.
Selective memory
Simplifies sundry pleasures.

Call me out.

For all the times
I refused to believe you,
Punish me
With bruising kisses.

Here lies Love in the present.

Do not enter this derelict construction site, a haunted hallway cluttered with the latest gadgets designed to improve the quality of life by purifying noxious air particles, and masking frayed connections.

I like it slow,
an ache to arouse
blue buds
that never bloomed.

Tear down the silkscreen
behind the tapestries
of suburban suspicion
surrender to
the ratatouille
of culture clash

Hearts beat
love we made
to fill our mason jar
of hand-sealed dreams.