i
black notebook bible
written in reverse
drunk to sober
coffee to water
clutching this fatal pen
patterns are put to the test
as a new notebook nears
foretold and
written in red ink
with random words
that spell pleasure
or certain doom

rested but not at peace
i conjure this forsaken descent
as passion is lost
in the blackest night’s discontent
the clock’s hands move in the wrong direction
come the kitten kisses
wrapped in a faded soul
and typing to pass the time
the end is almost complete

ii
rantings from an absent mind
be quick, be clever
when you’re slow, you’re dead
poetry and poverty
one more line
cold and curated
with clear tears
painted on a september moon
i’m reaching for dead batteries
in the heat of the night

words only work
when the soul is caught between
torment and freedom
words are only wise
when spoken on fallen swords
most days, words are ransomed,
held hostage and uttered on cracked lips
yet some nights
words walk within theatrical hours
absurd, abstinent
waiting to be reborn

iii
stationary in a satirical sanctuary
i need another myth
to escape this artificial night

open streets sing
songs of restless reanimation
caressing old skin
as a vulgar preacher
wipes sin
from his feathered lips
chaos in the quiet bloom
he waits, drinking rum
caught in the hum
of another purple papal night

the word is lost
as peacock pesants
peddle pagan probabilities
un-calculated and carefree
everything moves in waves
as pirates and jedi ninjas
parade paleolithic pandemonium
and here i hang
stretched like an impossible saint
between malcilent moments
watching four hundred feminists
follow false flowers
revealing nothing
but fetid faces
and facts that feature
faustian fables

the old gods are hiding in molecular structures
and they crave the cure of human frailty
magic becomes science
and science becomes static sanity
as seventeen points of light
illuminate and disseminate
the spirit of an empty christ child

iv
naked indian trance
sultry succubus dance
it’s a calamitous consummation
subtle erection
complicated collection
these maidens are masters
of misdirection
sometimes flesh is all we have left
as bedroom flowers pollute the midnight air

rolling in the dirt and
waiting for the worms
“we’re onto something here”
the red woman cries
robbed of his true voice
the joker frowns
under a smile of delectable desire
as crosses and corpses are caged
in a unconscious cafe
of malicious intent

seven years to live
and three to die
roaming a winter passage
of boredom and insanity
each season brings
a new cycle of indifference

the road is closed
the gun jammed
and the ink ran dry

fasting, and feasting on cheap wine
we are anticipating inspiration

unbalanced and euphoric
how could we live for anything other than
this one, magnificent moment