From the 2019 Collection "2222"
#222 #2222
Hollow fang? Volcano. Cat’s purr? Hymnals. Intuition?
Hell came through on battered wings, and thought to ask just one last thing. That If I could,
Two onyxes atop another out where the witch frolics, the signal clear, it rang through my throat so loudly I frightened myself:
S, I gotta tell you, this sixty-five cents is worse than a lump of coal. I pray the remover of obstacles
Tears tears do a walk-by unload the clip don’t know why now
There was on my property an old gnarled stump, it was weathered and hardened, It was aesthetically pleasing as d… but I decided to take it to a spec…
Curling black from crematorium sta… tell me again the hoax of the soul… The cowl paces, pretends to be faceless, swinging silver and wafting saccha…
Ten days secluded now, improper and unshaven inside a black and gold hole, dope den of sultry sound and opiate mood.
I remember being unmoved at more than one funeral at more than one memorial looking about impatiently impervious to the cries of the cry…
The moment you flit by my ear, my strings are severed, I droop like a marionette— I remember I know nothing.
If presented with the choice would the dinosaurs have allowed the asteroid or meteor to hit?
Needless of a judge, a contrite heart is a bird suspended on a current, shifting myriad planes without asking or telling.
There is a stream of what could have been which flows on with the same rate and newness of what is.
There, upon the loose dirt, I was a stone’s throw from her, Goddess Incarnate. She had snakes for hair, she had green flames for eyes,
A tide of blood, miniature in compare— But an ocean no less, to the virus in there.