Poetic Prelude: [Ineffable Might] {88} 1! I have to get through tonight. Through mid-tredarious forward assaults on the best of my iron vest incites. My failure of amorous insight I like best, The hole in the hollow, the pump that replaced the very black heart you stole from my mostly tumultuous chest. Mm-hmhm. The pretend of a sigh, I know not the reason the rest … Continue reading Ineffable Might, Poem 88

  From Somewhere With Love   I walked until the boardwalk ended and toppled complacently into delirium tremens, Take your salt pills!! She fucked to barely feed herself; On the top of the mount, On the silk of the sheets of those lowest of lying, American hills, Civilization, hyper development when man was the hunter, the broad was the target, But also the spoiler of … Continue reading From Somewhere With Love (54)

  # 50: Havana Road   We could be in Havana by nightfall. It’s what I’ve been whispering for years. If I could just trade a pound of my flesh for just one single ounce of your tears.   Bloody paw marks cross my face! Self-inflicted. Lash marked loved one; I am so careless for you. Dug my own American grave in a record time, … Continue reading Havana Road (#50)

#042: Bullets for Breria (Moscow Hostage Crisis Part II.) I.   “Companero!” She says to he: “Just how far will you take your love for me?” “I don’t know.” “What-don’t-you-know?” “Is_love-just-another useless-word-in-english-to-tie-together-all-my longing_ and absolve the pastness of its evil woe?” “Balkinera!” He says to she:   “Why do you hide your past_from the demons in me?”   “Vasili!” What’s there to say to you: … Continue reading Bullets for Breria (#042)

#038     Moscow Hostage Crisis   Part One       Life of the slave show! I will remove you from your castle and make you watch the way we live in the wilderness below.   And she slips off her high heels into a star-crossed stare down, She always calls the shots, Gun shots to blood soaked makeshift cots. The shots she calls … Continue reading #38; Moscow Hostage Crisis

#012: Muse of the Brighton Bathhouse         I interrogated you with Newport cigarettes pursed at my lips. And you sized me up like a slave on the market block.   Emergently my covered wagon has been jettisoned and set ablaze by a blonde haired savage, a mercenary in clad multicolored finery with war paint under both blue eyes.   Brandishing a spear and … Continue reading #12; Muse of the Brighton Bathhouse