hasn’t gone

it shambles




coming, and


like salt's thirst

scowling over a

body tries pulling

wreckage onshore

does return hollow

what is fearful to

be loved, but this

picture is unpainted

with scars, i am the frame’s

dull occupant

hurt, pillared pillowed precipices

stay unchallenged

building upon its

featureless architecture of tearfulness

you tore right thru me

with that pigsty of a

heart that contained

nought affection

sunspots have burnt

holes, deep hollows -

deep awakening

burrows for -

dark grimacing birds

to roost and lizards to

sprawl where such

damage will not remove

a rain-filled-heart-width

falling that has no floors

this can’t be but is a feeling -

forevermore cutting

dig the sky under for the

skies aren’t wanted or

warranted to shine -

their sticky glinting

afraid of what sorrow might

bring? down in the bottom

of a tall glass stare up from -

indecent salvation


you own

your own hole?

but every

gleamed orifice

is rented or sold

i am so grey filled

with the graphite of


it almost kills

tomorrow always spills

ready and wanting

empty headed -

waiting for such comets to blow

so when closeness




in someone else’s

worn mouth

an eyesore

of silence

or lonely


its own desolate


there are nooses

stiff as lovers up

against throats

makes the steepness

sharper, makes more

mornings blunter

why wake in that stale

body shape full of the

spent pages of others?

why must the cracks

always appear?


answer this, and

indeed be hatched

a genius


what is actually mine

casual spaces

expanses hearse-like

magnolia cages,

that grasp of nothing

feelings of facelessness

thru-out phantoms

sparse and much colder places


is smudged and indistinct

touching, a wall of

allows loneliness

to thrive its feeding,

how to be isolated

by someone’s dislike

or skin rejection,

condemned to a ritual of one

out there

i sense your filthy presence

warm and un-drunk

waiting for orgasm twitches

for moonbeams to stick their strangeness

beyond my

ownership of none

this heart has known

naught but the winter

you placed there,

the wasted clocks

a lifetime’s rape of

once, here’s to the

hollow that engulfs me now

aperture and abyss

where often is drifted,

that feeling of return

quite the revulsion

leaves quite the sickness

come share this

intimate feud

this shame

this doubt, a head’s

worthlessness of opaque holes

constellations don’t

shake the sheets -

anymore unlike 

thirst, it deafens it

weakens resolve

the likes of another hot person

awaits the shuddering pistol,

assassin of your sex

like the one you discarded

and left bereft

“splintery and dashed”

anonymous thighed -

salty brethren, selfish others

infect their brothers, beyond

what is stale an anniversary

of rust, there isn’t love

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