Monthly Archives: July 2018

The City Only Lights

It’s a cold and thick rain in the dead of night. The city in the valley below is just a too white smear beyond the windshield.

She is asleep in the back seat. My worn and stiff leather jacket her blanket. Shoegaze plays loud and smothering, the only warmth here.

I listen to the hard rain entwine with cocooning guitars and ethereal and ghostly female singing, and look in the rearview mirror, and watch her sleep.

Away up high here, the city only lights, the sweet darkness and rain, the soothing music, and my lover at peace for a moment.

For a moment, all is well.

Keep Dancing

Keep dancing.

Slow, burning beats

In this dark club.

Just you and me

On the couches.

Keep dancing.

I’ll give you all the

Money you want.

Keep dancing.

Keep dancing.

Smile for me.

Give me those succubus eyes.

Make me believe it

And I’ll give you all

The money you want.

Keep dancing.

Make me believe it.

My money is yours.

Keep dancing.

Keep dancing.

I don’t want to go home.

I want to believe in this.


Me and the Dead

In the cemetery on the hill, the one that looks down on the town.

Prayers are not for the angry.


Pensive angel, distant, ensouled in grey stone, too tired to weep.

I feel like her, among these people.


The sky is red and boiling and lurid, August fire making all malevolent.

The last flicker of love smothered by fear.


Me and the dead, we look down, stand above, stand out and apart.

I remember once, a lover holding my hand.

I remember, but it gets harder everyday.

I Used To Dream of Love

Hiding in the garden, with the cool soothing breeze, the white lilies, and tall and emerald trees.

Hugging legs to chest, hoping this soft afternoon will blow away the darkness, this thief, this broken mind disease.

The world is being reborn, the seedlings and blossoms opening, but I feel distant and cold still.

As a child it was all wonder and joy, but demons came and took it all, all love and grace. Not restored with a pill.

Sun warm on my face. The breeze is gentle. But the fire burns and burns in my mind.

I lay down, look to the sky. I used to dream of love. I used to see angels. Those angels left me behind.

Little Pumpkin Black Nose

Little pumpkin black nose,

Dark haired little girl

Out among wilted cornrows.


Damp night, misty, veil so thin

Between living and death,

She wants to be let in.


Black costume with grave dirt,

Sweet smile with fetid breath,

Such innocence cannot hurt.


You take her cold hand, lead her inside.

You are claimed, taken to fallow fields.

In the damp night, underground, to hide.


All them bones keep the soil dark,

And keep her quiet, held in bone arms.

Next Samhain, her loneliness will mark


The cold earth and blood that gives life.

Out among wilted cornrows she goes,

Underground were loss is rife.



Cuddle and Shiver

Sex is blasphemy, with the whisper of a hymn.

Strawberry blonde pixie cut. Too white street lamp making it ghostly.

Tenderness has no place in hunger. We try to swallow each other through our skins.


Cuddle and shiver. Thin and mussed sheets the sails against starry night.

This desperation brings all innocence down from the stars, just to be made unclean.

She kisses the hollow of my throat. Consecration of sorrows.


Make love again, trying to touch holiness in the depths of falleness.

Strawberry blonde pixie cut, ghostly, now honeyed in the rising sun.

Cuddle and shiver. Fall asleep embracing.

Dreams take us to that limitless world, though we can never share our visions of it.

Busy Work

Her Geo is bare bones and has blown speakers. The tapes of sad bastard music sound angry and howling

We have all night and a full tank of gas and nowhere to be found. But escape is impossible, moving is just busy work.

Sad bastards are demons, and these laments are apocalyptic in truthful distortion. I place my hand on hers, as she rests it on the gear shift.

The false can’t be escaped. The Milky Way is seen from Andromeda but not Knoxville. We run and run and run, just to keep busy.

We are not found. Everyone sees us. Sex is the trap that damns us to invisibility. Seeing but not touching the light.

Parked at an all night gas station, eating ice cream sandwiches purchased within. Cold and sweet is soothing. Winter calms the rage. Paranoia stays.

Still Voice Rings

Strawberry blonde pixie cut. Modest summer clothes.

James Agee Park. Raucous laughter and parties elsewhere.

No escape. Nowhere to run. Demiurge has sealed every exit to heaven.


We drink hot coffee from a thermos. We talk of the stars taken by false light.

I am at ease with her, not chasing a dragon.

The night is sweltering. We are alone. Racket goes on on all sides.


Still, some stars remain. She said in undreamt of time she came down.

Her face painted over in memory. Her words sewn to other mouths.

The coffee is hot and bitter. July is the maggot squirming in the corpse of grace.


Silent now. The coffee the sweetness of admitting it’s fucked.

Angels and prophets speak quiet when nothing is quiet

Her still voice rings in my ears. She says let’s go for a ride.


I get on the Vespa behind her, hold on tight.

A star leads to a birth that has every chance of having it’s voice taken.

She has spells and tattered grace, the Demiurge has all the cards.


We fight on, all hope lost.

Let Us Hold Hands

The night is quiet, just before dawn.

The clutches of stars above twinkling.

The lights of the city across the lake

Are a golden crown on a vapid king.


We sit side by side, you and I, radiant,

As silence is now an old friend, tender.

Silence so long in coming to brokenness,

To silent lips and bitter, prayerful hearts.


The war on a foreign shore, the betrayals,

The blackouts, the breakdowns,

The loved ones lost,

Loved ones who left.


The demons that scraped our souls

And blotted out tbe light and the sky.

Tonight we are radiant, and stars,

One by one, bow to kiss our heads.


We’ve fucked, and fucked others, careless.

We’ve been skin that touched to take.

We’ve been pleasure sickened in repetition.


But silence has welcomed us tonight,

And the stars are our court, we are holy,

We are radiant, light and love shining.

We are in love, we are bound in light.


Let us hold hands, simple, caring,

Like when we were children,

Like when we were sunlight and grace.

Let us hold hands, true and vulnerable.


Let us hold hands. Let us heal.

The stars are our court in silent night,

And they come down, one by one,

To kiss our heads.


Speak His Name

MLE, in her dark, wine blue bikini, her short, black hair desperate and wild tendrils around her head, as she floats in the clear, wormwood water of the swimming pool.

Nothing is blessed but all is bright, the city down below twinkling gold, the stars pushed away, and streaking across the sky, the missiles full of demons’ fire to wipe this world away.

Silver streaks across the obsidian sky, and MLE watches, sighing in the warm water, water the baby blue color of the sky when all was well, a time before humans, before the need for grace.

MLE,  an angel, too long in the city of her kind here on Earth, knows she will live through the fires as white as God’s creation voice, that now wipes away all things.

But what will be left, what dreams bloom, even sickly, in these ashes? Grey and fragile, the black rains washing them away. Away. Away. A way of humans to burn every miracle.

MLE thinks of the one she loves, a prophet perhaps, who has put a child inside her. The child floats in her and she floats in the wormwood water, and fires again come down.

Angel and human, but both tiers are lost. All is lost. Fire never cleanses, never heals. What will be for MLE and this child born into loss? God does not answer, and the fires hit, speak his name.