Site Closed

Thank you for looking, but this site is officially on

permanent hiatus. (But I’m not giving up the domain. Sorry.)

— Drax

Go HERE.

LAMENT OF THE CORPSE ON HIS CROSS

•

LAMENT OF THE CORPSE ON HIS CROSS

•

Oh Father, descend now,

grant me sight, my eyes

are imperfect, they insist

on crying every night

I dream of you

as I wander through

this cathedral of steel

and floor of crushed skulls,

my legs splinter, I kneel,

my mouth shaping prayers old

and words forgotten,

I count every breath,

I wait for your wail

to split the sky,

to fall on me and

color the dawn white,

paler than the blood of saints

who gather about and weep

as they drink deep, licking

the gashes slashed across

my wrists, the saints blind,

the saints lost…

•

Oh Father I sicken of your silence.

Deliver me from this bloodless host.

My cross is made but of wood.

Your house is empty.

I am less than a ghost.

•

Ω

PYROMANTIC

(Artist Unknown)

•

PYROMANTIC

•

White hole in the sky

And ragged wound

In my side,

The sun, the sun,

Solar thunder pounding

A single message, again

and again, your name.

•

Lift me up,

Ceaseless voice

and Crimson sky,

Touch me, burn me,

Just like that day,

Again and again

Your name, your mouth,

Again and again.

•

Give me your

Kisses of fire,

Burn me

Beyond recognition,

Just like that day,

Your mouth.

Burn me

Again.

•

Ω

BANSHEE’S LOVE SONG

Anna Theodora  / Templer

•

BANSHEE’S LOVE SONG

•

Barely remember…

I barely remember…

Those nights I drowned

in deep pools of desire,

so dizzy

with the knowledge

I was one with the wind

the night the moon the

death…

I cried and cried

and ached…

But silence was

my only kiss.

•

Now, now,

I roam these woods

searching for that lonely embrace

that final breath to share and smother

one last lover to pull beneath the water.

What other rhythm is there?

What else is worth wanting?

Why would I weep as I do,

just to be alone?

•

Ω

INTIMACY

© Jacqueline Alpers

INTIMACY

•

Once in line at the supermarket I saw a boy barely taller than a toddler with three large growths on his head, three pink bubbles boiling from his brain, as if a needle had been slipped between skin and skull and pumped air into his flesh. A single prick and his face would explode.

•

I thought of you as I watched him eat a candy bar, watched him smear mud and drool across his lips, watched his eyes fly open with desire, point to a Tonka Toy and babble at his father. The father flinched in his slow moving dream of brown paper bags and woke to the ring ding bright light thank you have a nice day of the check-out line. The father’s mouth popped open, as if he had never seen any of it ever before.

•

Amazing, how the food just kept coming down those cracked black belts.

•

The father asked the boy what he wanted. The boy pointed to the Tonka. The father shook his head No.

•

I thought of you. The smell of your hair, the scar on your leg, how you ground your teeth when you slept in my bed, how you pinched your face and listened patiently to my hum-drum-doo-dah-I-love-you life stories.

Ω

ALWAYS APOCALYPSE, ALL THE TIME

© Deborah Samuel

ALWAYS APOCALYPSE, ALL THE TIME

•

for Paul DiNovo

•

We are ruled by the moon.

Werewolves, schizoids, fools.

Dragging up and down

The coastline of our life.

•

No drowning season, this.

Nothing so fancy.

Just another month,

Another death

Without fanfare

Flowers or even cinders,

Another eclipse in the sky

And broken toys

Lolling in the tide.

•

The doll, the sword, the robot,

The spools of rope and wire,

The dead dumb crackle of

The sound and the song,

The LP, the diamond needle

Scratching, scratching,

The spinning, spinning circle.

•

The moon is down

And there is no hope, love,

But also no goodbye.

The eclipse approaches,

The sky lowers, the ground

Trembles. Nothing, not even

Remember, remember

Can save us…

•

Not the math of God

Or the motion of the planets

Will ease this grief, and

Sorrow will be our

Only supper, but

There is always a but,

Thank God for the but,

Even if we don’t know

Its name…

•

For within this patchwork

Quilt of guilt and dead

Bent grass of our flesh,

We will always have our

Apocalypse, always, all the

Time, never young and always

Dying, always, always, always,

As the half circle of the Eclipse

hangs over us, the horizon,

everything, always, here,

Now.

Ω

CYCLING TO AFRICA TO SAVE THE ELEPHANTS

CYCLING TO AFRICA TO SAVE THE ELEPHANTS

•

for Alexandra Bradley

•

Impervious! She goes!

The wheels spin, she rides!

Like beloved music

Played for a solid afternoon

She cannot be slowed,

She cannot be stopped!

Her face covers the walls

of a thousand hearts.

She’s cycling to Africa

to save the elephants.

•

For the greater good of God

For the smile from a friend

For the smallest shard of

Hope from the radio,

She’s cycling to Africa

to save the elephants.

•

“But why?” her friends

And family say,

“You can’t! You can’t!

There’s an ocean in the way!”

But she’s going just the same,

She’s cycling to Africa

to save the elephants.

•

She dreams

Of long yellow paths

Packed hard under

The dance of the pachyderms,

She dreams of memory everlasting

And a land of fertile fields

Where the elephants graze and wait,

They wait for the Shooting Star’s debut

In their faraway land, for she will explain…

She will explain everything.

They wait.

For she will come.

She’s cycling to Africa

to save the elephants.

Ω