The Monk Pure – as the Madonna's tissue where the canvas is worn,She offers herself as Magdalene to me,Happily entombed in gay ink, attended by lies.Dripping roses from red eyes, two small vaults of heaven.Far, far away from these rough clumsy caresses,Thunder rolls across this brow – Frustration sweats forms pools on fingertips,Set some rivers in motion, but don't smudge anything forbidden –That's for later. What is pure anyway?I am as pure as catacomb dustBreathe it in, breathe it in,Mix your gender and I will mix mine with someone else's.I am as pure as Judas with his prize,And then some. I like to creep, where the h
Beating Hills, Rolling Hearts I.Under a counterfeit name, I pour through valleys.The dusty tomes of Salamanca – behind these two necks now.Tor upon tor, with grasses green and waving - Like some secret jade sea –Flowing wild and rapid in a hushing wind - Concealing salivating jaws – yellow and grey.Breed bats, breed bats – flurry of velvet, fang, claw –Unfold into the night, under yellow moon - Envelopes of black.Each small hillock – back of leviathanAppear, disappear from view, under cloud clad night. Beneath yawning heavens, frightful sounds from gaping mouths.Now into the heart of something new– trees tou
Agnes Dei A tomb inside a womb. Inside a womb-like tomb - Old blood caked blind walls - Released the retch they were protecting.He, born into a moving world – encrusted with sticky pearls.The sweet life forgets him, now.i would have hung his tomb – (my womb) with roses – if i had known. and now the demonesses come.Down there supposed staircase of mercy-Made from all my limbs and things,Which hurt all the more to remove.Ladies and gentlemen, for my next trick.Let us redirect them.Taste some brimstone, swallow some ash,Lets make their skulls bloom, Bleach bone in brightest black.Lets laugh with God at them - yes th
The Foreigner Moving in yellow light Overflowing-Sink, sink, into a violent seaFloat like a tiny boat. Battered and bowingOn a silent seaLoad my lungs and now I'm choking Flesh green and glowingOn an ill-tempered oceanCommotion, commotion – waves in motion Foam and froth their foreign tongues frameLanguages I cannot name.His armour of silver scale erupting fanlike tails Beneath sallow skin pervadePlunge me beneath the waves.
On The Table Where the canvas is tornPeal back like flesh, surprisedPrized, prize away the fliesTheir lives were little white lies.Dimming light in those four sunken black eyesSinew beneath a yellow stewPhotographs of bone, red dewThere was one ghost in the lensNow there are two.Its not time to rest those weary headsOn soil, grass, its not yet time for bed.The radio's play out their final humHearts beat one last drum, drum, drum.
Dux Bellorum Above horse’s hooves bronze eagles fly,Their wings-the length of the bruising skyWhile Smokes’ spectral serpentines swirl on easterly windsTo bloom black the impenetrable stones, that groan-With Saxon drum and battle moan.Riding the miasma with knights in tow,Dux Bellorum glides, draped in crimson throwsAs the Brobdingnagian throng amass their maelstromA caustic cacophony corrodes cadavers.Labarum emblazens Christ in divine shardsEmbroidering on harbingers heaven.Steel peel on heel of hoard battalion of ballet boots, Rumbling monstrosities heave-ho their hingesForce Hadrian’s mouth open aghast, at la
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