Theology

and then he laid his hands on me
and my sins floated away into the ether
and all the pressure was relieved from my soul

The golden boat was presented to the dead
and their eyes were filled with lilacs
and the waves came and nipped their feet
and they were carried off


A labyrinth of tubes
traversing space
carrying the bubbling red light
of God


When the night goes black
and a veil falls over my eyes
and my hands neither feel nor grasp
and the satin ends up in your hands
the last of me has bled out
and my pulse becomes weaker and weaker
until it mixes only with the stirring of wind
in the sighing grass
only then can you pray
and even then
there is no point

Dirty Hair

Your bony fingers play my rib cage like a lyre
Your violence is so pretty
I am at such a loss
such a loss for words
and my dirty hair shows that I have fallen
from the grace of the silver deity
Why are dead birds falling out of your ceiling?
I want to shed red onto your carpet
I want to rip out my veins and sew a blanket with them
to keep you warm
or just to keep you
who are you?
That is a question for myself
to hold and cradle like a baby

Sadness

my melancholy is not exuberant
it is soft and sweet
like lace in a slow burning house
the cinders curling up
like cherry confetti burning the Sky
sending ashes down
to coat the dirt

Autumn

trees shedding leaves like old women losing their fear
it is fall
and the ghosts are crawling their way out of tracheas
and falling into the world
covered in bright red blood
placenta for the new world
a gift
and they are all stalking the tall grass
and whispering down empty streets
about what the early night will bring
and why it must come

Hands

Chances Are
My Life will end at my own Hands
For I am naught but a tired flower
wilting in the breeze



My hands carry little
My heart even less
This is a sad one


my hands are covered in blood
and my eyes are swallowed by the ghost of my father
winding around the labyrinth of my nightmare
You are a mirror
shining like a star
being eaten by the universe
you are an ink stain
you are full of ash
you are a sweet tray of dirt
and used cigarettes


There is an explosion
across the country
the city is burning
all the ants have got their guns
and their burning down the playground
And I am sitting here
having my brain burned by the tv
while my hands
sit idle

Hell

What a hell hole this place is

Cancer 2

Imagine being stuck
Where every nightmarish thing
walks and breathes and spills blood like wine
Imagine your father with skin like parchment
jaundiced
tired
lying on this field strewn with crying kids all screaming for mom
and you can do nothing
But watch him
as he tries to get up
and falls
and tries to get up
and falls
and you are so sore all over
from every night you have spent crying
and you weep and your throat closes up
and he still can not move
Imagine a house
where everything smells like bleach
and you feel death near like some people can feel a storm
your brother and sister are there
but they are so sore
so sore from the crying
and your father is walking down the stairs
with arms like spider legs
he is so skinny
nothing like himself
and you cant stop screaming
because it cant be him
it cant be that strong man that raised you
so you help no one
your father falls
and he cant get up
and you cant help him
you cant