Thursday, 12 April 2012

C. vomitoria's Feast

Alimentary canals drape, like fresh water pearls
The Battle remains, from carnal foray
BLOOD & GUTS display like a grenade
through Whitemores window.

That's the price you pay for miniature;
Les saucissons petites in tangled array
Visceral on the verdure of pitty.
This kitty sacrificed them both:

Mure musculi betrothed and departed
Micky and Minnie broken;
hearts disemboweled and imparted,
torso's contorted and proud
brought to ground by the jowls
of Misty.

They fought in The Jaws!
Inflagrante Delicto
while  mother partied;
calypso in Alicante.
These siamese,
massacred for the twinset,
while she sits sacrosanct in the sunset.

Sunday, 8 April 2012

The Tiger Moth & The Trestle


Lao Tzu
“Watch your thoughts; they become words. Watch your words; they become actions. Watch your actions; they become habit. Watch your habits; they become character. Watch your character, it becomes your destiny.”
― Lao Tzu








She holds a candle to The Trestle
and waits impatiently for the flame
to take. They say she was profligate
with time and thought;
Why did she leave the pathway open
for so long?
To return In sentimental rendezvous?
These are the paths of the unforgiving.

Unlike the wounds that she left bleeding
This burning will not harm nor scar
as the words she wrote at eighteen,
muted in the sweat and tears of uniform.
The hemostatic flames begin their healing.

A strata of tears, once petrified in leaves
of shale, begin to blister and pale
weeping their release through fissures
of dusk. Page by page. The warp and fade.

She stops beating: The Bulls Heart.
The doors of Nautilus swing open, unhinged
hemorrhaging silt and solitude.

Rising from the slate, unsheathed
Tiger moths bellow to the thermal springs
and footstone sky nods obsidian
to the smoking pyre. As

Time turns its felsic heel to rain,
Befalls each footprint to the tinder step,
Recalls to mind in thought, a different fate.

Friday, 23 March 2012

Dictatorial Whore

She’ll goose-step once more
on the necks of those who serve her, and,
by turn, they’ll grind an impoverished heel
between the shoulder blades
of the damned muted parade.
Faces blanch in shame
afraid of retribution.
And yet, humanity remains.
The blue collar;
They will still serve her.