House of Freaks


I went towards the timeless ocean of temporality,
to the very beginning, on the shores
of cursed waters where dead faces grinned

Speak will I not of the terror I saw upon the rough-hewn coast
may evil see you, black tooth bite you
and fume its pungent breath into your soul –
they pull my sleeve, pull me with them,
as I scream and fling stones at them,
and whichever I reach out for, they kick it hard,
and this lasted for a while, until they fled.

 

As is the circle that gone around this heat
I walk like a sleepwalker, through memories.
who may they be, they whose violence can’t be undone, like filth
which nature makes all roundabout in this sick land?

Whose land is this?
The witch smacked her hands together,
demons came out of her evil eye,
and I woke up, seeing it as round and round as the sun.
A dark glow was white in the newly-born day.

 

Here she is. Cathedral front porch.
The Gilded Angel, the entrance hidden
the hour’s missing
under the golden light
and with the body of cherubim

 

I do not want to enter damn thing,
but facing the cruel world in the beast,
fear came over me, it swore at me insanely
and gave me a smack on the cheek.

 

While I quivered terrified on the accusing wind,
and at one moment stopped,
lost in the light
of the merciless machine which kept chugging,
non-stop, looking at me vengefully, demanding more…
my skin is sensitive, it will not endure this.

 

Perchance evokes from its lofty perches
aflame in anger in House of Freaks
time is ticking. Space dying,
on display for carnival patrons
step warriors clad in leather armour, their axes bloodied
with a wicked howl of the wind
More and more near approaching
human chicken tarred and feathered
“We accept you, we accept you”

It took my hand and got me in.

Look. The sign is crookedly placed!
in front of the church!
all of this clowning around,
this house
this wire
this fleur-de-lis
all of this is wrong,
instances inscribes threatening riddles
forcing a finger into the joke
above the shield
a royal crown, with church gates shut!

Where, where are you taking me…
what misfortune is this?!

I get scared to be


The semi-darkness and solitude will vanish

I will serve alone within myself even thought I am not my own

Before wounded knees everything opens

Flowers and thoughts, stories of justice

Wanton skulls and eras without rest

 

God will punish me I know

But in the cramp of passion

I will not be broken by those absent

 

We danced the whole day

The solitude anew embraced by valleys

Above the springhead

And sin to people

 

I get scared to be

For, living in fear is a death that never ceases.


Fear often recurs, fear often repeats itself, he has tact, he is musical, he likes to preen, very sure of himself, constant grooming. he gets closer and faster to our hairs and says, I’m here, I love you.
Fear is a kind tenant to us, he pays his rent on time, he truly understands us, he cares about our toothache while crying out loud he would alert us to Mrs Flamehead, the landlord, a wicked woman hooked up forever with a broom and with a cloth scarf on her head
You have to run away, says Fear, you have to run away, his words have it a great sound of reprimand, his cold sentences, like icy droplets of sweat, in search of a wet knot made of piles of weakness.
For, living in fear is a death that never ceases.

There will be time for me to tell you


There will be time for me to tell you

Will the words spin tomorrow as well

And will the essence be the thread

 

Stooped candelabrums stalk me

Between yearning and fear

Between passion and constancy

Always present while you sleep restlessly

There where the beginnings end

 

Solitude too has been captured, moulded and limited

And her contents gnawed off in the tempest

Where the beginning and the end meet

Each full moon

Brandy bilious burp miasma of inebriation


Orphaned on cold streets

just for tonight,

just for tonight,

my hands tangle my Medusa’s hair

A column of mourners black veils,

blacker shrouds blackest scars

point fingers jab my face

with dirty nails spit at my eye

kick my uterus Drunk under the table by

Brandy bilious burp miasma of inebriation

Disowned by God thrown to ground and called whore

Where They Disappear, Hungry Cannibals


The gods ate their children,
from the underworld to the height of the sky
Chronos, like a griffon, giant in blue steel
quiet as a childhood dream and cold as the whisper of death
(putting the devil-turned-coin in thy pocket near the cross),
and while the Greek papyri scarcely go beyond Salome’s laughter.

O this beautiful male born of demon king Ravana,
raise thyself, dimensions, visions…
silver through strange patterns of the deeper argent,
carne vale (Eng. here’s meat).

Samhain is here, the life of Sylla while dying they cut their hair,
the paperwork of death her presence seen;
eternally lost children for the monsters that greeted them,
a world that has flown backwards,
the illusoriness of what it requires,
ephemeral ways to get closer to ambiguities,
all the fires extinguished in the hearths,
all the dead who believe they are coming into this world lives equally,
all Irish legends and darkened blacksmiths,
toys are in the palm of the Chronos,
where witches go riding into which holes they go,
from the bales of fear my private lunatic changes me.
Where they disappear, hungry cannibals,
banished in defeat by the hands of their children including Zeus
to Tartarus in the underworld.

The Stark Empire


Even as the flame of snows things is wont
becoming avalanches of oblivion
to stark empire of blank stares only,

So likewise was it there
a pan flute of weeping reeds
to die in fields from point to heel.

Who is that one who writhes fingers
burning the house,
more than the absence of everything
Returns indoors a redder flame –

To that one grapple, from jag to jag
and non-resurrected bodies
If you will have me a flood in a drop of rain
down there along that naked aeons, compliment me,
so that death may be delayed.

Flames fall, star parachute
I stood even as the friar who is beholding many herds
a non-lizard star that will
bow the tail and disappear between
surprised fingers.

The dolorous no,
my eyes will not cry
nor will this mouth weep for terror