To nothing certain


From the pit of my dreams

In the inwardness
of beast in a pinnacle
in the moonlight upside down night.
It howls at dawn and to and fro
across the soil they speede
drum and the wolves neurasthenic thump thump…
a death agony interval
so you out, you dark unexplained
a moribund millipede in extremis
of all creation from the darkness

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
alas, there end

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 scortched pale virginal you
upon the red roses opened unmysteries
Queer is. Sheer it is. Defiant Damocles
belted with the vast shadows 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



Strings in the fire resound upon the air
I oft in contending aureate dreams fray
in the in solitude repines
Are there no Kingfishers on these ocean foam
To shores of amethyst, beyond the range of care

The glittering worlds from citrine
To deep and deeper tourmaline Cybele shadow
The troubled hour when all things sink into the moon kissed pyt
all loneliness and loss with shadowy sailor’s eyes

When the Olympian gods  wavelet all thy in mid-air hair
Holding to ancient all maddeningly Mithras mogul megastars
 All apoplectic, cimmerian, with sparks of water

Klei 1, Shayari 2, the Virgin reflexioun
auricomous effigies of Ur Nammu ziggurat
placid the water deathlike stormis
I would in that live on in desire
in the sweet hell envenom pasture,

Now, Schir, farewell,
I can’t bare to watch Baal fire in the Peruvian torch
nor flyte in the sedate stalwart greens
Among the poison dart
in Netherworld or in Mag Mell 3….

In whistling sleep on
In the eye of terza rima
hygiene of monochromatic volcano
Who permeated my sacrificed blood
With sunset of shadows or lesser be?

Fetid urea, that piss on the sea,
Along the lurid circle roundabout in the circle
Meet the mighty madman and watchers,
They sentinel in the recessed
Bid mar shin. 4

Ave, aveo, avete. Ad infinium.
to the Dorian Moon days
a rogue framed to the dungeons and dragons
Dungeons and Dragons
in sombre colour, I eternal last
Bid mar shin.

What moon covered with a sweep
Put in thy ash, my perennial sweet,
Go devouring the darkness softly
I come to follow, I come follow,
I come in from the cold

My atropa, my bella donna,
Arise, arise!
From lethal attendants,
From this earth’s unventilated indecent polonium spheres
and from death

*Valley of [the sons of] Hinnom

1 Klei, From Middle Dutch cleie, from Old Dutch *klei, from Proto-West Germanic *klaij, from Proto-Germanic *klajjaz, ultimately from Proto-Indo-European *gley- (“to glue, stick together”)

2 Shayari, *poetry (Urdu)

3 Mag Mell *In Irish mythology, Mag Mell (modern spelling: Magh Meall, meaning “delightful plain”) is one of the names for the Celtic Otherworld, a mythical realm achievable through death and/or glory. 

4 Bid mar shin *In Scottish Gaelic, to say “Goodbye,” you can say “mar sin leat” which should be pronounced as “mar shin lat.” 

Photo Credit: Hell, The Garden of Earthly Delights – Hieronymus Bosch Tapestry

Hell 2


Yes. this will be my Hell now.And now we move to transcendence to Ubermensch (beware, Nietzsche beware!), we transcend the horizon – to impossible spheres where there’s something that’s there all the time, waiting all the time to be found, but it must be sought beyond the horizon at the worth of living. Cosmic insights. the great mystery of dark riddles whose resolution shines type of a diamond. A mysterious substance pulsates within the dark because it waits to be found.

Transcendence as deception

The breakthrough, in consciousness, of the earthly Quarantine-Hell-Prison, the self-liberation and overcoming of the forces that make and sustain them – must suffer from uncertainty, like most abstractions – the traveller behind the unfathomable deceptions reaches for the impossible. he or probably she is tired of living during a body that’s complex of minerals, she is chasing something more, and where she must be more aggressive than Achilles in his trip to the astral. we must not reveal what it’s … even the seeker isn’t sure. She just knows it’s something waiting to be found. maybe something… sinister, too… the seeker has neither god nor master.

Her master is blood. She lives happily in blood, ashes and dirt. On the due to the horizon, she may meet angry and horrible pirates, black, bloody galleys … and swords .. but she wants to urge there … behind .. for a lump of the sun, she’s going to kill and may probably die early.

Therefore on departure, she says that the soul for her means a degree higher and let the Iliad, Homer so on…

Let the devil carry all of them.

Let a temple be built white as a monastery for Ophelia!

Leila Samarrai.

Exorcise Trials


Exorcise Trials


You dare to talk about the psyche

That I am not strong enough to do twenty-five push-ups?

What do you know about a woman?

Are you thinking of Psycho as Isolde

Or Juliet perhaps?

The ones who received Aphrodite’s curse

to be beautiful, but lonely?

Vengeful bitch.

Still so pretty…

Now go and look where her hands are…

I, The Goddess Of Yelling, I… scream


They call me Judi Dench, in the gym

I cut off the Venus’ limbs with my voice

Me? I am a few pieces of broken statue

I wish I was like Aphrodite of Milo

To be sold to the French at a good price

If only some farmer from Melos had unearthed me

I would be, like she, in the Louvre, beautiful and exposed

Instead I sweat and toil in a man-made gymnasium

Counting to ten over and over

Aphrodite de Milo:

I have a part of the left hand and an apple

I am Eva, now, immovable

with lust in this boring paradise

That is my trial.


I am beasting it up now…

I am a cardio bunny showing of my guns

While I sweat I think about my altar—

I am not yelling-I sing like my birds

How sweetly they call out

But then they’re trapped in their cage…

Which is why they weep

Or how about

I listen to the final tweet in their verse

To learn their secrets

Like the nightingale whose notes are devoured

even better then Keats’ can write

My poems are silent, however, passionate, hard


Dressed in beauty forever

I sublimely sing with LOVE

I am able to do it …

In fact, once, I did.

Now.. Hold for 30 Seconds then curl up

That is my trial.

[TO me, this should be the end of the first poem….the next part doesn’t seem to flow from this….I would separate here]


I remember November 20, 2000

The Hague, one of The Old Ones:

You… abhorrent… disgusting… perverse

Stay away from my normal daughter!

(at least she was stronger and smarter

to pull me out from the Slovenian pantheon

to Kragujevac’ shop windows)

although the entire Slovenian pantheon is poor plagiarism of

ancient Greek religion

at least she called me Wicca

or Diana’s witch

Incubus, at least she called me her grandmother

half crazy she went through the village, freed from peasant tasks

whining for her girlfriend dying

Later, her daughter went nuts..

As for myself,

As a noblewoman I changed my name of Sachsen-Coburg und Gotha in Windsor

That is my trial.


Time according to D. W.” Griffith, it happened in 1985

What’s your father’s name

How ????












Ekron God.

(Children’s laughter)

And spoken cruelty.

Baals of Canaan

Beelzebub, flies!

Fly fly away flies

Fly away!

(Silent cry)

Poor baby,my angel.
Your sacred, innocent
pure virginity is gone.

(Evil smile)

Common now 25 jumping jacks

Swat jumps

shoulder width apart.

to a comfortable depth…


Do you have the shots in the mind as I do

external anal’psis

even prolepsis

is Griffith your teacher?

“The Teacher of us All”

of a Hollywood Yahweh

End of narrative



I am Tired of .. under this sky…

I must take a pause ..

Cool down …


I am


a matrix,



the world is too nebulous

to be interpreted

I cast every onslaught on my body

I cast …

Perhaps I’m not a poet, but a killer

no poetry until the bloodshed

heads secession on the fly with katana

leave all sediment and silt behind


Time according to D. W.” Griffith, it happened in 2003, maybe in 2010…

she said

stop calling me!

He said: stop calling me

Ma‘a salama مع السلامة.

Mummies legions, the Nephilim

For the former joys have passed away …


Somewhere in the middle of the Hollywood narrative, critic speaks:

set on fire your madness do not feel ashamed

Good.. Very well penned…

thus you should write and thus it should be!

Continue like this!

symbolically, yet completely illogical,

and yet carries energy and   original poetic line!


We cast you out, every unclean spirit,

omnis legio, et omnis congregatio secta diabolica,

and nomini et virtute Domini nostri Jesu Christi!

This is much better, Griff!

“You know, I thought it was a new poetic voice.

But your slam ton I do not like “


in the name and by the power of our Lord Jesus Christ

unquam suade mihi vana!

I am not interested in your vanities.

That is my trial.


Mysterious ridges are thy Elohim

Where do you taking me now?

Why are you burying your toes

In the fiery bowels

Of the gerber – free!

“What do you see?”

There are three of them:

Mother, son and uncle

Screaming, laughing and stealing my jewelry

Cutting my hair,

Someone strikes

They spit on me\

“Sit in the tub!”

They paint my face with milk and honey

And soon, flies.. flies…

I was prosecuted from a large Dante’ yard

After that, I never could take Hell serious.

That is why they reinvented Devil in every 10 years or less.

unclean spirit,

satanic power,

onslaught of the infernal adversary,

Cast out their legions!

That is my trial.


Saves the best for the trial in Salem!

May the holy be my light!

May the dragon be my guide!

There will be three of them:

The unclean spirit Karni Mata

She lives in the Temple Of Rats

Also known as the Trojan pony.

She stole my money and devoured some life…

The second is the Goddes of Poop, with the hair of Medusa

A tremendous gossip!

The third is Ninkasi, born from the sprinkled vodka

Goddess of beer and brewing

The drunkard centuries

Beasts from the abyss

the Lamb of God

Behold, the Lamb of God enters the court!

Trials trials everywhere!

The blood of the lamb

The blood of the lamb

The poor lamb should do some donkey kicks

Photo Credit: Matrix of Art, Sara Chelou

Penny Dreadful

“I tried to pray that night and God didn’t answer
me, but another did.”

Rabisu demon lurking menacing at doors,
desert anguishes and roads of bone,
At bittered ends and vicious roaming form, in
the dust reeking reborn.
Pouncing lurid predator vampirically, sardonic
seizers in scorn,
And whispers: “I’m fascinated by your wicked
and lucid appetite for your own useless life.”

In lament from fluttering sent, leaps from
window eyed portals denied me,
And whispers: “Oh no, I will bare no escape
from existences framed refrain,
I choose you, beautifully lined face with
loneliness, losses and clutched crosses.”

I am placing maliciousness monsters in the
pillory, reaching hangman rivalry,
Oracle with filled eyes of abhorrent horrors, vile
villainy, disgusting revelry.
Malice madness in theatrics, harbouring hunts
of hauntedness in the gothicness.
My Morrigain, my Mora demoness of dark war
and warrior corpses,
She susurrous’s doom and washes the bloody
cloaks of the fallen soon,

My one way love affair with fated despair.

Cain in crestfallen, commits unforgivable sin
against spirit,
The demons converging, surrounding and
The innocent blood screams vengeance from
the ground purging.

Corpses long dead roar excavations
Incantations transfiguring graves,
Fierce golden reigns irony remains.
Nightmares veins surreal tentacles, tear tense
dreams from tight eyelids,
Fang drip foul viles in gnashing violence,
The grand bizarre at the feverished abhorrence
The glassy eyed emptiness of brumal freak
I smell like sleepwalking, staggering, pale sober disheveled,
The freedom of hurtling heights bridge jumping
Running wild like thrown matches at gasoline.

The beauty of illusion bleeding disappointingly,
The nightmare fits it’s grip in bellicose
The darkness of the grave takes you delicately,
The screamers sing in outbursts of enthusiasm ringing,
White satin nights in nocturnal delight flinging.
The elusive, unearthly apparition was ignored.
Sorcerer horror summoning hoarse voiced Bael
King crowned sixty six with demon legions

I was born barefoot and harsh in conditioning,
Washing away wounds of violent love eternally.
Handsome insomniacs gently jumped on me,
With eyes blinking surrounding me the world
turns disgustingly,
Nauseating turns drunkenly in fits of death
shaming me.
I pull back pale, evil spirits rise with days
In ditched depths collapse and grips his
darkened voice is hardening,

Galabiya and long scarfed Ahriman tilts his
head in unbearable laughter attacking:

“You’re anguished miseries past entertain me,
You’re fool hardy determinants sustain me.”

The dark figure covers his delusions in ghostly
Hiding the curves of mocking derisive smile
The deception of tethered feathered cheerful
and devil eyed,
Amused by this Sisyphean pilgrim prides to
conjure wild Ahriman.

Golden-mouthed perceptively moving, lucidly
mystical moving metaphysics assistant,
In a long fluttering dress stirring surfaces into
snaking molten lava,
Covering the corrugated cracks in Babylonian
sandstone liberally.

“Perhaps it has always been there,
This thing, this demon inside me.”

Perennially shifting wilding howling cognition,
Volition in furious fiction,
Feeling snarling snapping at my heels.

The fictions, projections creating
The evil eye and other Jinnah making iniquity,
One day all will be concluded in concussiveness.
Connecting extremes and insanity to
Esoteric central core in magic cube of ancient
Following flowing pictures through dusked
Through furtive white crosses fealty and it’s
central orange,
Color’s evolve spiral through final chapters
In the end a detachable mixture, a riddle
A synapsed seclusion and the task is solved.

There are many ways to kill (a man),
And I taught them.
There are many ways to murder (me).
And I brought them.

Oh give me…pain with no repose,
Oh give me…ears that are closed,
Oh give me…mouths with no response,
Oh give me the burden of a new tongued order,
And the skin rhythmed touch of migrating

Oh his beautiful man, born of demon King
Raised in argent ardency dimensions,
Silveries through strange pattern properties,
Sacral geometries carnivale spinning pellucidly,
Samhain and Scylla spiral madly
Resolutely, while dying they cut their hair free,
Administration of death in her presence seen.
Lost children eternally, anomalous demons
greeting them.
The world flies backwards unreality of what it
Ephemeral to ambiguities flame extinguishing
The dead enfold, born moaning into this world.
Celtic God’s and blackened blacksmith sorcery,
Toys in the palms of callous cannibalistic
Witches ride wildly for frightful Phobos,
From the bales of fear my private lunacy
changes me.

Monstrosities grunting courageously,
Mumbling rotten membranes,
Leaves, thorns, beast horns, intestines, heart
shadowed scorns,
Fright at might dear antlers dead and red, rusty
Morning breaks broke blood torments,
Nights in hellish anguish shatters.
He tore all his clothes off, and naked he roars
with torched lips,
Lunacy smile wild and wide shadowed caustic
Lives lonesome black buffalo and rabid holy

The stalking beast entreats me in rooms
without vision,
Where the light will remain hidden,
Save fiery twilight eternally bidden.

“There is nothing that is alive here” it cackles at
my shackles,

”If the light is prayed the shadows will explode
against expiring,

You do not know what is happening to you,
hellish heresy clarity confuse.”

I should shake the walls, slam fists to tables
expectantly, I said:

“I will make my blood flow like a tap!” I almost
didn’t bleed,
I revealed my wound to wise effect of
He told me to dream.

It’s been a year and still he stands there sirene,
I pound him and drown him, stab him,
confounds him,

Nothing moves him.
The world breaks down around him,
He sneers and peels and smears,
He curses and tears,
And breaks…
And cuts like a beast.

“My innermost shaitan;
Predatorial preternatural hunts of my psyche,
Mavening movements within me…
Or behind my back


Waiting…for me to turn around.”

Hell (Extended)

My Hell is not here!
My Hell is not sallow, shallow or hollow,
My hell is mauled miseratics howling,
Choking crimson vowels,
Shrieking in the Shoah’s.
My Hell is deep, chasmal and plummeting,
Enclosing me, existential viles with no veils.

Life without lies, lacquers or illusion,
Eyes slammed closed to it’s dread,
Everywhere their window shutters fall dead.
Their portal pupil voids poltergeists,
Barren and bleak following my foot falls forever.
From time immemorial,
Primordial progeny from God’s,
Or aliens splicing asteroid angels with homosapien man.

The ancients foretold me this Hades,
The living logos from incarnate well spring,
Flowing in dire Dante Alighieri circulates,
Cascading in Paul Verlaine’s maudit fin de siecle.
This hell in me, tempered pyretic embering!
I am carbon complexity graphene hardening!
I am diamond from coal crushed conflagrations!
Annealing unfathomable in illimitable pits.
There is no absconding escapes into chants!
No evasion nor fleeing retreating!
No avoiding awaiting playful demons,
In noxious masquerade ball swirl swells.

Seven vices slices nine l’enfers cirques:
Audacious hubris aloof adamantine,
Avid avarice insatuality,
Invidious covetous malignancy,
Lecherous libido degeneracy,
Gluttonous hyperphagia voracity,
Supine in torpored languidity,
Fury birse in iris pyres.

Conversing with, Ovidius, Eliot, Sophocles, Dante, Verlaine, Euripides, Aristophanes…
Intoning incantations, bellowing of the beasts;
Black Eros, screams and whispers,
Shackled to splinters,
Ashtray course spheres in cinders,
Transposed and poisonous,
Frozen and venomous,
Promulgated purpose:
For now, for never, forever, for here!

My hell is not there!
I am singular Hades!
Soliloquatious Sisyphus!
Day gently into maelstroms,
And the mortal eye goes blind!

Everyday is mine!
Frozen horrific infinities,
Tranquilities dire demise,
The heavens crimsoning capsize.
A man who approaches silently, does not hide…
The knives…in his hands.

©® Leila Samarrai

I Walk alone

Now, I shall proclaim, hear and listen,

To the wrongful and to the righteous,

To a legion of locusts, larval and terrible.

I dimly dwindle to dread winter solstice,

Drowning in dust, dead embers and sanguine roses.

Under the sign of the black mark,

I signed the cross with hades scented canter,

Built by rotting fetid shrouds,

Tearing the fine filaments of Ghoulies’ lunacy.

A thousand sparks fissure and fall,

Ember to ash.

The serpent’s hiss echoes and prowls,

And in the eye a roaring lion,

The true majesty glory smolders.

Falling magma magnitude,

Penumbral phantom smoke in fungus mirror madness.

Oh insanity, oh mania, repletion rue and daisies rise anew!

Lyssa’s and Ophelia’s flowers,

The bouquet of Persephone rose, 

Crocus, violet blooms in asphodel meadow.

The destroyers came, rapt in flame,

Baring menacing sentencing.

The noose chokes the throat,

The sword aims at my heart,

Polished Philistine sting,

Betrayers in the shaded dim

.Depart thee oh accursed one!

(Father Lankester Merrin from our village Umm Qais 

old priest,

Its sun-shower’ruin Gadara,

Came before this power of the beast.

Through inverted flora of hades,

Through The Tree Of Zaqqum forests sighing

conjuror, druid, to battle!)

I am the heart of Mesopotamia,

The delights of damnation,

With perpetual inroads,

Molding the tombs of the ages,

Epochs cycle to cosmic ballet,

Revelations eternal unrestrained.

With double edge sword, with pig headed feather,

To execute fierce vengeance.

Voyagers unholy pyre, this wicked shining,

Of bliss descended…Arrival of damned perpetuity unended.

Where the acacia mirror fell,

The great red dragons legions storm,

Mad marches of Marduk,

Tiamat treads upon temples,

Baphomet’s boots boom pound and stomp innocents to ash,

Fiends of the black flame forbade,

Revenging revenants enrage,

Envy envoys emblaze.

Lies blithe Prince deceit,

The spirit of the world prowls,

No surrender no conceit,

And seeks only ruin in the viles.

Bile reek, lust, glutton rise,

Illuminating forms of darkness freezes.

An abbot and conjurer at wrought havoc feast,

Retch regurgitate foul disease.

And the ripper ascends ready,

To the darkened days of last storms,

Born revenants to rend flesh from screeching bone,

Atone not in brimstones abode.

Blessed be my hellish awakenings,

 From hollow vaults to murder cacophony.

There are no ends to this.

Worshipping in whisper,

Murmurs in fissures.

Soon, plume,

Pitiful spirits and the shambling dead,

From the Christian graves by the moon,

Will waver to the sarabande.

Skeletons sway with ease,

To dulcet tune sounds false doom.

Terror howls,

Tempter clarion clear sounds:

“I am things unseen!”

The murderer from times beginning came,

Cane at the door to a pit of a dream.

And the shrill on hell’s black coal sings,

The left hand prance off kilter,

You’ll see, of the deep sun that rings,

Courage as never loved before burdenless. 

In thick chains blackened and imponderable mass,

It whispers at me so near, unimaginable aurals:

“Ah! ha! ha! ha! See child, the cruel dawn erupts eternal!”

Binding bird and beast crucified, composed…

Hard struck with insolent inspirited instrument.

The Hammer thrown into the keen and hell ward flame,

With ash crimson-dashed thus obtained.

Clamorous beast caterwauling, just below surfaces,

In the flesh in excellent preservations,

Screeching and squalling, wailing and weeping.

Is not It bound to me, or I to it?

Did I summon it?

Was I the ravager to eviscerate inhabitants?

The slaughterer of Samaria?

The eradicator of villages through the centuries extended?

In black emblazoned skin the deceased point ashen fingers at me.

In gulps the gluttonous drown in grand indigestion.

There’s a pitch black aching heart,

In a dark, unlit sound,

A den of bedevilled mazes,

Commencing every night eternally.

As arises the Chalice!

As arises the Maiden!

As arises Saturn!

Saturnal’s radial radiational hate,

With hellish hues turns concentric.

Dark Prometheus ascends mockingly,

With a wry smile he knows,

How the fire to our use unfolds.

And I orbit the infernal thrall,

In circumferal twisting’s.

I turn again,

To trudge through aeon,

The ephemera,

The emphasis,

For the unknown,

 I ink hair-raising notes grand,

Last strands, last stands…

And I walk— I walk alone.

Photo Credit: Man walk alone in the post apocalypse landscapeby Marc Henauer

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?!

Return of a serpent all the moon’s agitated fingers

Even as it returns who goeth down
Sometimes to clear a drop of rain, which has envenomed
a flood, or aught else that in the mouth weep for terror is hidden
the sun is hiding its freshly drained liquid seeds
It’s freckles
and of a serpent all the moon’s agitated
and the instinct of the eternal harlot
Came up and felt stripped of water recedes before


Descendeth dreary, hereat I, trembling;
whence in the heads of the elect Project,
we lightly peeled off our laurel leaves for us
hide the shame of heresy or the halls of true paradise


Thorough a hundred plasticine toys, with metal weapons
Far from his smiling dwarves, drugged demons
Far from this master, released from the chain
the world will be a trail in the crystal ball
instead of words
was a cry that
no one could hear.