No light but the moon.
No scene but the unforgiving waves,
vast and melancholy.
Here I pace.

A small room built for torment
my punishment persist
As resilient as I am,
I admit
my mind is about to give.

These four wall haunt me.
Small and lonely.

My cell faces the sea
Dull light chases away darkness,
as the outer world calls awarness

This one glimpse I have,
this small gift
for it
I am grateful

my fragile window.

The body snatcher crawls from the bowels of disaster.
With blunt claws and cracked nails,
he flays the space,
grabbing bodies for the capture.

His home but a place to rest, to close his mind
and slowly peel the layers of dress,
where scars of bodies, picked his flesh.
Attempts so desperate, to remain un-snatched.

The body snatcher dreams of meat.
Meat so rancid, meat so sweet.
Some he sells, some he eats.
He names it snatched cuisine.

The sack he lumbers over shoulder,
resembles a black hole,
Those who enter, learn here after
that death lives stitched in wool,
Those once bagged, often gag
choking on the stench of others.

The body snatcher crawls from the bowels of disaster
A shadowy, feared, malicious captor

The pieces crackle under foot.
Glassy daggers pattern the cement.
Alleyway objects fall and stick,
collect,
under oil, ash and soot
The pieces crackle under foot.

The cries echo, howling wide
muffled under pain and grim
muffled under bends of time
muffled, quiet
hushed and silent
The cries echo, howling wide

The burning smoke, fowl and rank
invades the air we often drank
suffocates the smiles we made
the yellow thick
the yellow sticks
the yellow smoke
fowl and rank.

The bodies piled, bloated flesh
freshly killed, forgotten trash
faces of crumbled hopes
faces of lost souls
faces froze
faces cold
The bodies piled, bloated flesh

The deepest cuts, like drippings
gnawed tapered hangings
darkest meats, dragging
separating from bone

Boiled sores, slit scars
sewn together like cotton threads
Needles stab holes (pave avenues) for drugs
We hand sickness a gun

They slip, slump away
like Christmas day, here and gone.
We might remember
or not.
We might just live on.

I'm alive, I guess
slowly rot,
green to purple, putrid flesh

Spots that maggots eat, or lay
but still I live, a walking corpse
down crippled way.

The avenue whines
the boardwalk abandoned
like holy shrines, sings
a language long forgot
The younger can not help,
their flesh hangs, wet

The stones we walk, layered cement
over battles fought
Soggy terrain flooded plain
memories nurtured with death, fead.
Lush meadows green,
nurtured by the bodies we left,
hanging flesh

Drippings, of the deepest cut

I think not of how hard I slap
how solid a fist feels.
I find contemplating pain, an eager passed time
something gutting.
Like fish hooked on skewers, vididly moving
scoping while the waters fade
breath by breath
choking

I think of crumbled letters
gracing the wooden floors
minor words wrapped in white
pages age
Like heartbreak and bourbon
potent

I think not of tomorrow,
undecided time, a ghost haunting the now
like a grudge, sewn to the flesh
groping nails cling, drawing
blood

I think of cellar doors, hinging on time
of choices that lead to dark realms
where demons whisper
of silver sanctums, wide
open

I ogle mirror glass, finding the ripples vain
I think not of who or how
I think only of a voice, strumming my death
lovingly

My mother calls me "Lucky"
I'd call myself lonely,
lost in my longing for more.

Left handed and lippy, my Latin roots grab hold
short with little limbs, my bark is sharp
but my love soft.

Lumps lodged in my chest
loaded little rockets
launch when winter lands

Logic eludes my language
I speak, lucid lies loudly
laced with truths,
liquor tends to loosen, the lips

My Mother calls me "Lucky"
a shining lucky star,
I'd call myself Lady of the Lake
watery, and rippling

The saxophone plays a somber song
the melody so blue
the harmony so strange
Her brass keys speak of withered wishes
dusted away

The sadness reminds me of a cottage
White trim, with shutters green
behind Huckleberry wood,
Hand made with a moss covered roof

I suppose the structure stands, aged and unkept
Dusty old remnants
much like our friendship

On plays the tune, sweet jazz
The beat keeps my memory
Sax of brass

Cottage all alone, beneath a willow tree
A cottage not a home
With shutters green
The sax plays
nostalgia sings

My time spent chasing rainbows taught me of pipe dreams,
and liars.
Dusting off the fairy dust,
I learn my limbs have life
Evolution saunters, entertaining kings
Picking fights, for the sake of the queen

Animals were made to bleed
Rainbows are made from rain.
partials of color
tend to escape

My time spent chasing rainbows, gave me bruises
cuts so deep, I never heal
there is beauty in the damaged flesh
solace in regret
Truth shines across the sky
colored in lies

I spent my time chasing rainbows, lost in the thrill
I should have spent my time admiring the still
the small feel, of standing beneath.

Skin and bones, walks but roams
Starved from lack of touch
Empty holes wither away
as hunger overtakes
thin, so thin
claws flay the space
in between now and yesterday

Never look down
unexpected horrors, animate the sounds
as she walks the earthly grounds
searching
famished
unbound

Framed thin,
roughness scored
not thin enough, but fat enough
to gorge.
If remorse, never weighs
feather light, guilt repeats her phrase
such tastes, such toughs
I've felt before
Like ****** raw steak
ate with a fork

salivate such vivid plates
worry it to be your last
longing's wrath

I plead with my bottle, never empty
The glass neck has a lush feel
I strangle it like a lover
victim still in hand, bleeding to my pleasure
the fill,
the thrill

Looking back over my shoulder,
I hear my mother.
Her sweet voice, rippling in memory.
"Never look back" she said.
"What's behind will fade"
...keep your head toward the future
...eyes open to the unknown.

And still, with the voice whispering
I turn slow, unable to let go.

The moment passed too chaste.
I wish for more time to linger on your face.
The light it clips,
sparkles the lint like stars,
and somewhere behind me,
a part of my future shines.

Fate has blessed our encounter
magnets pulling
you behind
me ahead,
Looking over my shoulder
our worlds intersect

I called you friend in the months of summer.
The beauty of June,
collapsed our violent hearts.
Melting under the surplus of life.

Now dear friend,
we stand on opposing ends.
Fangs to fang.
Begrudged the barren frost of winter's aim.
Starved,
our violence is reclaimed.

Enemies circle round.
A knife stowed, will graze and forge.
Flesh bound,
blood spilled.
Man must face his beast,
for winter's thirst claims summer's meats.

I'm not sure I would recognize myself,
If I saw myself,
in reflection, or in frame.
It's so outside myself, another self
it's hardly really me.
A cage,
a shell of pinky meat.
The barrier, my jailer,
glaring stranger stares, naive.

The truest part, my savage self,
she hides beneath the dark.
She bleeds in lines if woven words,
a woman bent in curves.
Scandalous, yes,
her story told in verbs.
A ghost to the present,
biting at my nerves.

I could tell you,
I have dark eyes, olive skin,
in a photo my face might shine.
However, without the mask,
behind those lies,
exposed,
my soul is truly shy.