Peace may be found in less hungry worlds

As clouds caressed your red curls,

they pilgrimaged you

with torn uniforms as before execution

I may tremble if I see you again

now that every barrel is empty.

All of the wine has returned to the blood

that Jesus drunkenly took to heaven

with us as we eat salty meat with milk teeth.

The leafy bays were gently ripped away.

Is heresy a disgrace, or are the walls of true paradise

where frightened you lie where there is no me here,

where there is no you?

Peace may be found in less hungry worlds

to nothing certain

Focused inward
on a pinnacle of beast
upside down in the moonlight.
Toward, but not away from dawn it howls
across the soil they speede
A neurasthenic thump thump from the drum and the wolf…
in the death agony interval
out you, you dark loners
a moribund millipede in extremis,

As the sun sets

Come out, El, Eloah, Elohai
grimacing dark laugh the Enchantress’ lit
under the hanging boiled Jason’s tail
Osii, Osia, Osii
dive out of
painted – with serpents –
with painted
with acrobata wonderfully grasshopper
balanced upon the pit of unmentionable

Back from the chill abysses home to the old home
full of sweetness
Before my mirror, in silken mists
down my flanks, awaiting in the insane circles
the more than somber a terrifying monster
and masked one, hovering
the taiga of tartaria
looming antipodal Macropodidae
the downward roo when panting with that nimbus
of hellish flames, vicious, reversed

Ten courts of hell
ten Yama kings
in a pool of filthy blood
brooding over bestia in the flare of fire
is it but reddish drawn aqueous shades
grotesquely unseen, unlamented
a red bright in the horror tilted dark,

The effortful attack of the apparition, either bored
or mad, softly, vast beast…
the effortful scorched pale virginal you
upon the red roses opened unmysteries
Queer is. Sheer it is. Defiant Damocles
belted with the vast shadow’s sword
vexed with sardonic stare prick
of black ink somnambulist soundless scream
supplies me with flambeaux whisper:

“I’m lonely. I’m lonely. I am so lonely. Lonely am I”
gone is a dreadful deed that looks like grave and
sounds like bird
sounds like the growls of lions in their wrath
sounds like…
cageless flowers behind the doomed shores
of Circe’s realm with killing smile


the oblong virtue to the beast’s visage
in the dead of the night
or knives and daggers on revolving feet
the heavenless hell honeycake to departure
I mutter, I haunt, I persecute, I knit,
the gasping chaos
taught by cool flutes lingering grace
I moan, I harp, I pipe away
And rise into ether, gather in mist
enraptured flowers, stitch the ear in a short wicked candle
Tear from the fabric the threads of incorruptible”

Immortal creature secluded in the night
forever cursed, lost with their pre-world loneliness

Left to whisper:
lonely lonely through a circle
left to weep for a cups of death
in much statically angry madness
left to strong one-pierced silence
through moaned space
time reaps death’s blade sleep
with poor cuss

left to dwell in the infamy of despair
as in the sharp blood,
o hideous night, bold in advancing
Fragile splendor intense
to the blast of a frightful scream upon awful lips

A sense of mystery untouched
by the dripping hand
dabbled with blood, the phantom smiles bloodily
and stains toes to heels, bless you, freedom
We rise to give

to nothing certain


Exiles from eternity

gullible players

even for future revisions of unbelievers,

god does not change the rules

in the sad rhythm of the raindrops,

I counted the clouds

as juggernauts

in pursuit of



travesties, plunging deeper into the darkness

the walls squeezed me

as I bit into them


overall, rotten gaping mouth craves molten gold.

as they catch their breath in the oratory of wonder,

there will be no secrets

left untouched

for long Fiction

an unusual tale

and on each, I will be

the unadulterated ‘ same old

flowers’ creator

feeds shades with an

Outsider Solitude Headache


it’s all over

you ‘re out of the

swollen subdermal dungeon


(Poor Jago!
You were not God’s favorite!
But you turned
Fevered and fearlessly
on the favorite –


Commissariat (suited
Jago-green) in a rearguard mask
of many faces
made of faux maths
hemmed with decimaled seductions
of incestuous triangles (hexa-
of Navajo serpent tail)
and from bulb’s hourglass
multiple refractions of fleurs du mal
up from the sand-around your ostrichian* head

Ah! –
warrum sie / du
da und dort in Moor’s space –
a mere flesh at blood heat,
a pulse-works from aye’s inner eye
shaped by the moon’s loiny-sway
among the she-she betweens
of Leda and Memesis?
: among that space
Tyche rolled your dice
where in clay fallows
envy took root in you
grew a plait of fire and water
that became your backlit tongue

Drighligh twinkle
, twinkle –
from further/farther backlits (Caesarian –
a smolder of shadows came
blood bloomed outward
birthed a drafty pyre
where burned yours flyers
and your books

her-her carcass fumed
with many smells ( O Trojania Rome! –
da und dort in mojo-grade
formed between Moor and wife
the gray egg of circumstance
where they, and you,
fell to the sworded aftermath

ah mastery –
smell them out…

Eagla*, (Eagla means “fear” in Irish.)


(Eagla means “fear” in Irish.)

courteous by nature good natured

a pretty a day

lectured on matting of reeds

gambols red

in the black coffin

the earth, platoons

Moves to heiress resurrection

in heavenward heights

Lo! Maker showed up: Art, Intellect, and Bliss.

I’ve been getting immaculate messengers

around sundown.

Almost ready for a stacking game

Fictional time layers

Who is that conceited jerk?

(In mine sleep, I am a minor crocodile of normal size.)

The child’s air shadow


moon nature

Sketch of a crooked tower

With monstruos planet

colossal thunders,

an unknown author

To alleviate fear, draw landscapes.

Those who do not hear their voice in the middle of a dream suffer

who suffers from


sick emptiness.

čaught in thičkening fear

Pre to pronunciation in the dictionary

From the sound,

in the palm of your hand

Eagla, fear not but certainly in the midst of the skin of a careful sleep

—Its month of May (yes, May; my unbeloved) It’s really spring!

Yes, the lovely birds romp as fast as they can fly.

Yes, the tiny fish is as joyous as can be (yes, thirsty blood of a serpent of a doomfull fists of hailstorm observe wickedly)

Dante’s stars fall into a deep white palpitating pit,

and a white echo jumps through time and its walls.

as the shapes shift

A billion wounds, acidic,

crumbling, pounding,

tormenting, and


How many of them are

sobbing now,




May be an image of 1 person

Oval in black

You have fallen, and the torn have fallen with you.

like as ancient gods

have used

our limestone, dirt, and clay

Gypsum aids in hardening.

Calcium carbonate (top right),

Illite and gypsum

Displays and masks move

the lightning rod

The churches pay praises to the raptor star.

and this dead home has blossomed in my midbrain’s crimson cells:


Eels vibrate brightly in cacophonous quiet water.

A sail, the form of a yellow ship, and the tentacles of a white lighthouse on the high seas.

Bonfire on the deck. Belly laughs

Revelation Irish Woman

It hurts
being clothed with the moon

As that woman about to give birth
in front of the dragon

particular misshapen fruit
dealt the powerful blow of a knife, in the chest

to devoted insanities grotesque

In pain
I am in pain in the dark places pain, paints still water with spit of the fire

To the blade that was laid in the carved bone, an altar
an ancient image of divinity

will it speak the tongue of bones tonight.

Revelation Irish Woman
Her head peeked beyond
all the towers
spirals painted
Of herself
in the center of a microcosm
An all-encompassing universality of nature

a role model
for the human monstrous role, I am now in the performed, now

y – axis whirl moving of the let – ergo going to nothing

My look at the city was one of prison

am here – behind bars.

This is a city

the middle of a prison.

Into the wilderness
as is a desolate

And full of serpents and scorpions

“travailing in birth, and pained to be delivered”

The forest unbathed
by an ocean of blood

An unhealed wound beneath
the hot navel

The unpierced rib in the deciding battle
A lonely nest

devoid of it’s Eagle.
from the clime of the blood roth

walking are the possible dragons
That salute, woman
over and over the infinite sea breasts!

And time stuffs the pieced
pierced belly

I am a beastly shrapnel
like a knife

ping of fadead stomach
as around as death, around me you

imagining me, dragon tail’s rise
My mortal body
of immortal progeny!

I summon the Heavens to bow
down to my tentacles

Folded into a clenched fist of Hades in the chains of the river euphoria!

Painted with Rabbits (Happy Easter)

In blue majesty, sunny April
like a hundred-legged candlestick in pursuit of Mayalis.

All of the spring forces
Easter is being observed today.
and today’s clouds
such as a blue Pegasi fly
Oh, the beauty of the gift.
from a sick corpse to a pinks
Fire is resurrected.

The lords of the UNDERGROUND live beneath the earth.
light alicerabbituminous
Murmurations of starlings
Whiterabbitterness in April
Sotto voce Fickle Keys
is located underground,

is located underground,
Lasarus has been discovered in the soil…
clockrabbits turn clockwise
Resurrection may resume
Lokiblót, Kali, and Rabbit
It is, indeed, underground!
simply understand!

The white rabbit is full of
at the paroxysmal
hole’s eruptive activity
fragments of viper
of the undead who are still alive

The Last Man on Earth

Everything on Earth dies –
in the flesh of youth,
in a strange dead spring
that engulfed you in
a gunpowder fire,
you are betrayed
behind your back
by a friend and sold to
an old song about
the flow of sand.

“They, you pig speculators!”
“Here comes another pig!”
“I’m in a pigsty!”

But you seek another kind of pleasure
for yourself,
so you go into the cold, into the arctic circle.
They all pass away and vanish,
and you, on the chain, like a blind shadow,
in very quiet solitude,
you are only in the strings
of the noon verse,
you are the fire over
the abyss of rotten mud,
you are a mournful man who cries

Oneiros /the poem based on one’s sleep-cycle

1 (prelude, hypnogogic)
you know in truth present
about things subsumed among wings
lifted in light-fade among the bottles
and bottles shelved in moir’s service
as I (ah – eh! such age!)
from marrows-out
with genii-ed arm
reach out to rub or fondle
the wares with the dares and dos I have
as you, in prognostic silence,
observe me a feathered minnow
mind-by-hand stirring among ghouls and sharks
as if I’d power over death
and a forgetfulness daring enough
to Hyde among dishonored lives
cursed but seeing all as mystery
faux-ing in a warp of mirrors

2 (REM sleep i)

the mirrors open
I enter the wards of what if
rise among the boney fats of traume
so modulate Promethian fires
that fenneled coal’s enough
to cast such a net over history
that no Cleopatra comes
no Anthony no asp to dis-
place its feathered kin

3 (REM sleep ii)

I rise
poem becomes the poem in creation’s womb
become the hand of every Brutus
bound to the feral collapse of bloodshed
become – O fennel’s charry-smoke –
the ecstasy of St. Joan
giving birth
to churches all around the jagged-rim
of Shogun’s isle

(a clock
  flows from the tables of my mind
    I dally
      what ifs
        become the ids of self –

4 (soliloquy)

I’d lift the more
chase in circle myth by physics
Sundogs above Alaskan pipelines
of cold-blooded sway

pour gold
from Odin’s finger

build in hungry places
a working plateaupian shrine
that of no horn anywhere
would children starve

in loopholes’ well
dangle (for Loki’s head) a coin

resign Arabs
and Christians
so raise Irbil from its field of gentile dust
that Iraq’s rivers might calm anew

so bind Kafka
with Guthlac’s belt
tighter and tighter
until a demon flew from his mouth
  never took-off the means
      his madness never returned –

(might have
, as Rome burned, fiddled –

have escaped Muslim captors
during the first crusade by swimming
swum to France

have a bad weekend
for all our sins

the hing-ed Tower of Babel

become a pungent silence
for the holy son
whose blood chimes incurably

5 (epilogue, to reader and self…

here’s offered
of my own making
an (un) promised philosophy
unintelligible words
verses on a silver tray
fit for an image of water-walker
shrouded in zeit geist

clock resumes