Prose

for Rael

I would like to meet people who lack depravity and gravity. This crowd is so wickedly static. And I will surely burn in the heap with the rest, unless I go alone. But this girl unfurls her curls, like chains, and my cries of elated disdain resound as I'm bound down. She laughs at me, as I reel in knotted steel. Tension spreads across us like the dissemination of her redwine tears across the wet cement. We hide knelt beneath a street light. The moon beams white indignation upon us. We cannot see the stars. Tar catches at her heels as she leaves me in the rain, to breathe.
And she will die in Estonia.
And I will die in America.

Was it the Lover or the Beloved...

Was it the lover or the beloved,
who was pimped by
the simple logic of his hand up the lady puppets skirt.
As his fingers parted her lips she spoke:

"The heat passing these moments
burns and turns the furnace
where passion was fashioned,
in steam, by the friction between
two afflicted souls"

With that he took his hand from her skirt and ran it the length of her legs.
"I'ld like to stoke that factory fire with dynamite kegs."

She pretended this offends her,
so he might've lent her
moments romantic leisure.
These he couldn't render.
So her Tuesdays love letter
was marked return to sender.

A Fat Fly

Have you ever seen squaller?

In a back-yard somewhere in California,
I watched a fly
on its back
on the ground.
Lurching in circles,
unable to take flight
or stand upright.
Insect decadence.

Such an unpleasant sentiment
I stabbed the vermit
with my cigarette.

Insomnia

I can't sleep,
less my youth and beauty recede while I sleep.
I may live the longest in the eons of unintelligible existence,
consciousness without beginning or end,
hazy reality,
and I'm amazed I don't nod out with a half cacked pipe in my hand.

But at least while I'm awake I am safe from my nightmares; monsters. The Manticore with
the head of a jetplane,
the body of a backhoe,
the legs of a train and
the heart of an atom bomb.

His green Uranium breath burns off all my hair.
I wake up groping my head.

Cast Ominous Shadows

After the long day, as the sun sets over the far bayside industrial park, skyscrapers
Cast ominous shadows
Upon the near houses, as night arrives, ending scrutiny.

Night alight on a tumult. Let the towers cower as the streets are reclaimed by those who now
Cast ominous shadows
That measure thirty-feet long in the low, dim, twilight lamp.

And every countryman,
From all the matchbox houses,
From every tenement,
Apartment,
And compartment,
They all came tonight.

And the street was complete with charred bureaucrats and
The blood of swine.

And the sunlight, on red morning, glistening crimson freedom. As those standing, self-liberated
Cast ominous shadows
Gazing at eachother; remembering what this new day had cost.