I am a fiction, a mythical beast
I am all the word games we play
The white noise of the poltergeist
smeared against the teeth
of those who’ve taken from the feast
It’s a lonely place to be sliced and diced
by the mastication of someone else’s inner grin.
Poetry
Sunday wordle: Traffic
What did we raze for these serpent roads
to roll as armoured beasts
to what slain saints of the underworld do we owe our gratitude
as we crawl as great hulks
through the mist of our every herds breath
traffic lights, the storytellers to this entity as one
as we blink our hooded eyes out of the sun
this long, long beast a dragons tail, serpentine
roars with impatient voices
waiting, longing, straining
for the emeralds.
Cannibal
There is white noise
beaming from your teeth
As we become ground meat
smeared against your cannibalistic grin
all the hate you shape
We only taste good after you’ve driven us insane
It’s like I said…
The dead eat the living
and come alive again
so wilt away
and fall as petals do
The abyss is only as deep as you dig
It’s like I said
The world will eat us and all our friends.
A violent heart
Smugness has sculpted your face into a permanent sneer
It’s fascinating
I can’t bear it
Sometimes I want to punch you, rearrange your face
I know it’s violence for violence’s sake, I’m afraid
You bring out the worst in me
Though sometimes I doubt it’s not for the greater good
Doesn’t it show that inside of me is a thumping heart?
And what better way to feed it’s hunger
than being on the lookout for blood?
Primal Heart
The sunrays spangled
through the human debris
plastic
ensared on the branches of a tree
flailing in the breeze
playing trickery in the shadows
make it appear like flights of fancy
but then a Blackbird
dino skitters along the fence
It makes me imagine a velociraptor
and his shadow plays on my wall
and I think that’s what I’m missing
something primal, primitive
My heart beats for it
though overcome by the fear of it
but the fear itself uncivilising me
Thus, wild I am becoming
Flesh
I don’t know why; I picture us under red light
as we become entwined under the sheets
I’ve seen films trying to be poetry
bending light in such ways
as to allow the viewer to possess beauty
but I want to bear you
while you seize me as your own territory
Perhaps the red light is a symbol of the blood that runs in moments like this
the rivers we run through
to be taken or take another
always trying to claw back to that feeling
of something primal, something more than human
that animal within us
when we need something
more akin to murder
perhaps like fucking
where nothing is more tender
than the meeting of flesh and bone
…And
outside covered itself in our intentions
or lack thereof
It’s hard to be sure
but death laid itself bare
the truest of all deaths
for life did not stir
Not from last year’s seed
nor the loins of death itself
…..And it was true
there was nothing wild left
but for the action of fucking
Bone
The remains gleamed in the white hot sun
the earth harvesting us
as we reaped the land we toiled
made in our image
Death comes for us
as does our turmoil
fleshed out in our marrow
seeking us
for the history in our bones.
A mundane view of a room
The books to be read piled in the corner
not too many, just enough
the smell of the imaginings yearned, wafting into the air
a room lived in
yellowing, like the pages
lives and worlds intermingled
becoming part of each other’s history
a feeling in our guts
that life just has something missing
that can only be found in books
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