Archive for death

Terrible Instruments

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 7, 2017 by beautifulimposter

The sunlight today is an act of violence,
Arrows slicing the clouds to ribbons
Such awesome and terrible storms of light,
Bright and ragged banners streaming
Battle cries thundering along the channels
Of the raging winds.

I once laid in a fever, between dream and vision
The roof above my head ripped away
The vaults of the night sky split
As overripe fruit, edges ragged as wounds
The pulp and pith of the heavens
A yawning, hungry, pure flame.

Angels peered over the edges,
Mouths bloody, teeth wicked and sharp
Wings of blackened, pitted iron spreading
A rustling of edges and rust
Hungry, feral, carrion birds eying their feast
Beautiful the way a naked blade is still lovely.

Frozen to the sweat soaked sheets
Bones the kindling for the fire set in my flesh
Unmoving, tears burning canyons into my cheeks
For the first time feeling the death in me,
Printed upon each cell as blackletter,
A whispering mirrored by the watchers’ lips,
As threads sewn beneath the skin,
Tied and knotted, a skein, a tapestry.

The fever broke, yet still I feel the tugging,
Still out of the corner of my eye
Wings beat at the shadows
Pinned beneath all my words,
All the brutal blood and sex and mortality
Tainting blue skies and sunlight
So that I will never not see the tooth marks left
By God’s terrible instruments.


Bill Of Goods

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on September 20, 2016 by beautifulimposter

A landscape of scarred pew backs
Faded under used up onion skin sunlight
Sweat and salivation
Something hungry and panting lustful
Beneath linen suit and tie,
Hollowed out eyes glinting feverish bright
The cut and fit slim difference
Between any other carnival barker.

All the things you want to hear
Slow comfort honey drip, drip, drip
We are right, we are good, yes
Nod your head easy, meek and mild
It’s them what’s wrong, big scary them
Growling at the threshold, oh little lambs
You’ll be perfectly safe, long as you’re afraid.

Think not on this world’s woes
Let the wounds suppurate and fester
The stench just angel baby’s breath
A grave made of this world
For the empty dark hole of the next,
You know it folks, step right up
All it takes is evetything you’ve got
From now till forever and ever amen.

So the dirt clogs lungs,
Clots beneath eyelashes
Lips sewn shut by scarabs and worms
Isn’t it lovely, the next life
So cozy beneath blankets of fruitless earth
Barren and threadbare bereft
Choking on aspirin bitter
Ashes under the tongue, we all fall down.

Vatican Gift Shop

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on September 17, 2015 by beautifulimposter

I feel so very raw
Skin rubbed and scraped
Steel wool ragged
Every surface open
Bloody, layer after layer removed
Exposed muscle
Nerves connected to wires
Current turned up
Rigid, epileptic
Twitching, never ending spasm
Fish flopping on desert rock
Drowning in the bright shimmering air
Hallucinating oceans
Superimposed over smooth, slippery dust
Gasping, perfect last kiss lips
Parched, dry as bone
Dry as tears from decades ago
Just as impotent
Just as barren
Ribs open to the sky
A scuttled ship thrusting upwards
Jagged reminders pushing up
Through mold and grassy tussocks
Fragments to be stored
In blackened silver reliquary
All the tiny pieces reverently gathered
Buried in the deeper silence
Body become mineral
Spread out over a thousand velvet cushions
Perhaps clutched to a bosom
In hope or succor
That I could never provide
Whilst I was meat, just little better
Than carrion
That held breath for far too long,
Better now a souvenir
Frozen under plastic
In the Vatican gift shop.

Once More To The Sea

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 17, 2015 by beautifulimposter

I died at sea
Felt the ice cold waters
Fill my lungs with salt
We are all always returning
To salt water, curling in upon ourselves
Falling and falling and falling
Into the dark, into the safe,
Retreating with every last breath.

The grey green swells
Are a vast potter’s field
Womb or mausoleum
Vault of bones, ribs, spines
Whispering reverence, vaulted
Buttressed, a cathedral
Tolling great clangor of depths
Without memory or the need of it.

I long to be as forgetful as the Atlantic
To hold the multitudes within my salty blood
Breathing tides streaming over shingle
The last home for the lost and wandering
An embrace as cold and indifferent
As a howling norwester
Icy prow’d, high cleaving waves lapping
The edges of iron sky
Chalice gathering all the tears
Falling stately from widow’s walks.

Today Was A Good Day

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on September 11, 2015 by beautifulimposter

To stand upright
Eyes clear and bright
The taste of breath
Sweet in lungs
As it has never been
Nor will be again.

To move with purpose
Limbs obedient to mind
Suddenly sharp, focused
Pure, beautiful, terrible
Something unsheathed
A vehicle of naked violence.

To live burning, incandescent
One instant, no more
Voice the roaring of armies
Or the irresistible inevitable tide
That makes up for
All the watching silences.

To be just once able to say
Without fear or regret
Casting it into their teeth
Spitting it out as a curse
Or accusation
That today was a good day.

A Grave Of Us

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , on July 30, 2015 by beautifulimposter

I read of love
Appearing as ivy, blossoms
Vines sprouting in lungs
Winding between ribs
A riot of burgeoning life
Green shoots, fresh and verdant
Bodies become bright gardens
Rich with ripe fruit.

Yet I cannot help but think
In all this vegetal verse
That something is being ignored
The ivy that clings
Digs in, will break the integrity
Of the walls it climbs
Blind feelers working between the cracks
Will splinter stone just the same
As the ivory beneath your breast.

If love truly does
Make of our flesh a garden
The metaphor leaves me cold
Thinking only of roots feasting
Sucking on marrow
Hungry, questing tendrils
Finding nourishment
In corruption
Making love a grave of us.

The Bite Is Worse Than The Bark

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 29, 2015 by beautifulimposter

Beneath the skin
Teeth on neck
Pulse throbbing under tongue
Purple blue tattoo
A mark, a claim
Infection of the blood
It spreads
Fingers to toes
Subtle disease
Feverish, sweat blinded
Nerve raw
A wire in the blood
For the blood is the life
Repeat it now
For the blood is the life
You hold it under your tongue
Slick, oily, salt
Every last drop
You pretty little glutton
Leaving cold marble
Leaving your creature
Wicked ivory smile
Stained pink
Lick your lips and fingers clean
Bound to your kitchen chair
Hair shorn
Twisted, bloodless
Eyes obscured by clouds
Breath caught in the tresses
Of your hair
Life hung from
The perfect crescent bruise
Of your sweet little mouth
They all fucking lied
The bite was worse.