Archive for nightmares

Turn of the Tide

Posted in Poetry, Social Commentary with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 8, 2017 by beautifulimposter

There is rust upon the tongue, flakes of grit
The taste of metallic decay, bitter silences
Poisoning all thought, each stillness the longer echoing
Of all the words trapped beneath cowardice
Or strangling themselves stillborn,
Infinite infant corpses dangling faux tears
Strung grisly ornamental from spiny, crusted lashes.

Something rotten indeed
Cloying, unlovely, limping mockery
Nuzzling lascivious leaving viscous fingerprints
Stains beneath the flesh, the marks of remembrance
Bruises and cuts clawed desperate fingers digging
Oh, to remove the cancer bequeathed
Undressing bare to the bone not ever clean enough.

Bouquets of fear in full bloom thorn tearing
Wrung hands raw, wounds upon wounds
Every day, over and over and over
One moment, one touch, one word, or look, or any other abuse
The wreaths hung choking in lungs buried beneath
Crushing weights, pinned butterfly beneath the thumb of oceans
Gasping in the dark alone and alone and alone…

…when of a sudden, a match is struck,
Timid flickering, more shadow than orange burning
But warmth where there was cold, a point
Fixed, a spar to cling, then another upon another
Till there is a torrent of pricks in the night
A blaze, one into one into many and there is a raging blossom
Strong and terrible and righteous.

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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.

A Room and A Chair

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 12, 2015 by beautifulimposter

There is no conceivable measurement
Of the distance between where I am
From where I saw myself
A gulf of time and regret
Bad decisions and inaction
Old ghosts and fading memories
A scattering of busted toys
Tumbled about my feet, littering the floor
Around my chair.

Music plays faint and scratchy
Popping and hissing through the dusty silence
Voices that never fade out
Crackling reminders spinning out and on
Needle cutting tracks out of my fingerprints
Smudging bloody over skin
Smears of bright color across sepia
Twisting smokey though amber whiskey lense
Choking down fire to bitter ashes
We all do fall down…don’t we?

Rags and feathers
These instruments of faith and sex and God
Right, isn’t that how the line goes?
I was beautiful in my brokeness
But you twist yourself into those shapes of damage
And it sticks, limbs twisted
Into driftwood gnarled water carvings
Bones have memory and are hard to untangle
Too brittle, snapping under the weight of scrutiny.

Time passes like a razor
Slicing paper thin, peeling a rind
Of blank tape, spooling out
In meaningless ribbons just waiting
For a random spark
Something hungry to move from me to nothing
Faintly flickering orange greedy tongues
Leaving an empty chair
In a dusty room
With a scattering of busted toys at its feet.

Black Water

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on November 2, 2014 by beautifulimposter

In the still, silent watches of the night
When the quiet is so complete
All you hear is the blood
Ringing in your ears
When you are empty and so utterly alone
That’s the moment.

You can feel it
Laying in bed, the cold, black water
Rising dark tides
Lapping around the foundations
Worm gnawing the buttresses and bulwarks
Freezing marrow, so cold
Nothing left, not even breath
You can’t breathe, can’t even remember
What to breathe is.

Rusty trap fingers of pitted iron
Snap tight around your heart
You swear you can feel your pulse flutter
Struggling like a pigeon in a snare
Pounding, any second to leap
In bloody shreds from your groaning ribs
But you can’t move
Because you’re not there
No body, just horrible consciousness
Being swallowed screaming into
The big empty.

It’s only then, when you are almost gone
And you’re sure they will find
Your cold corpse screaming silent forever
In those last few moments before your mind
Is blown out and smothered
The silence is pierced
Low, mournful, desolate
A train howls out and you snap back
Knuckles aching, sucking air into fossilized lungs
Every nerve and fiber singing hot
Live wires twisting beneath the skin
Forcing your failing limbs
Churning upwards through grave dirt
Or maybe just cold black water
With the lingering fear
One night you won’t breach the surface.

Techno Babble

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on September 9, 2014 by beautifulimposter

Fevered imaginings stir
Cauldron bubbling technicolor
Adjust the vertical hold
Saturation bleed over abundance
Spilling torrents of pulp fiction
Long legged dames
Smoking gun lips
Hard boiled flint eyed
Fish hook fingered
Along side knights in tarnished armor
Rumpled trench coat
Wounded, weary
Still fighting ’cause the fight
Is all they know
Until you change the channel
Universal remote control shift
So now Sam Spade
Is a vampire slayer
Cagliostro now huckstering his way
Through “Let’s Make A Deal”
Dripping sequins and badly applied eyeliner
Rubbing the cat in the hat the wrong way
There can be only one direction
Which is everywhere at once
Paint splattered pinwheel
Sloppy primary coloring spindles
Bringing earthy dreams to
Maidens who need them
Sticky hot limbic night sweating
All brought on by a little prick
Applied in just the right spot
Chain smoking reaction
Here the mulberry bushes go round us
Tilt a whirling zoetrope
Streaming download mental architecture
Failure to accommodate your offense
Does not compute
This is virtually the only reality
Plural worlds multiply
Growing from my brainstem
All knotted baobab
Groaning bows let fall madness
The snozzberries are a lie
But they taste the best
When paired with a nice dandelion wine
From the October country
Vineyards twisting thoughts into dreams
Friday night lights sandwiched
Between layers of flesh and brocade
Rioting hordes rising up
Clamoring, one last shout
Multitudes living, fucking, killing
Just beneath the eggshell mask
Of my skin.

Borderlands

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on August 22, 2014 by beautifulimposter

The trees at the end of the lane
Drip crows, arranged
Like scruffy eighth notes
Along the grand staff outline
Of crooked branches
Clutching handfuls of dusk
Blinking sleepy indigo,
Fat butter moon cat iris
Glaring out beneath twiggy brows.

Somnolent houses
Bathe in stranger light
Wyrd glamor twisting
Normal shades to dreamscape dancing
Familiar architectures loom
Those that dwell in the spaces
The between times
Peeping out of dew lattice hedgerows
Whispering murky muddled
Pale snap finger crawl
Along the borders of sight and thought.

Footsteps on pavements
Toll lonely dusty hours
Intruding on silence thick
As moth powder wings drifting
Ruddy orange purple
Falling from sky clad thighs
Broomstick hair sweeping stars
Into cascading spark showers
Laughter high and free and wild
Riding the dark, rich currents.

Here there be magic
Flowering nightshade
Pomegranates full and fine
Spilling bloody jeweled seed
Flowering to blossoms of
Wil-o-the-whisp foxfire lightbulbs
Twisting curb sides to headstones
Backyard garden bone orchards
Shake rattling knob kneed
Dancing macabre along
The memories of black cats
Rubbing arch backed
Curling sinuous lechery.

Midnight carnival
Big top batwing canvas flapping
At heels now scurrying
Little mousy shoulder hunched
Heart pattering swifter
Than soft feather dark air stroking
Eyes darting towards home warren
Gold light mouthed normal
Beating back the rag-tag
Of crinkle rusty dry rattle goblins and beasties
Clutching burr fingered sticky to coat hem
Only at the last to be left in windrow heap
Slammed in the closing door
Sudden in rushing gasp
Enveloped again in the real and the
here and the now
The last echoes hung up
Upon the last peg with your coat.