YES.

"Poetry is the way I fuck you when you’re gone." —Nicola Cayless, Literary Sexts

Been absent awhile. Here are two poems.

Let the moon
take over
for me tonight.

Move my limbs, surge
with even
greater force,
my blood.

Let me be
in shock, let me
lose a couple pints.

Let me stare at you,
and rely on you

to not
take advantage of this.

I am in shock,
I stare,

wide-eyed but blank.

Let the moon take over,
guide your imbecile hands!

I am a dripping red marionette.

*


There are cobwebs on the bedposts.
How can I sweep them?

Life depends on capture,
on encapsuling,
feeding...

What have I got on them?

Even bending for you
backwards, you're mine.

I'm wrapped up,
and I'm looking up

at the stars.

*

and, just to cheer up:

So lazy. Just posting some drawings.

I need to fucking find these tarot cards.  They were not terrible.

Fun astrology stuff

And a quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson:

"The whole world is an omen and a sign. Why look so wistfully in a corner? Man is the Image of God. Why run after a ghost or a dream? The voice of divination resounds everywhere and runs to waste unheard, unregarded, as the mountains echo with the bleatings of cattle."

Neat article:  

Astrology, Science and Non-Rational Means of Knowing

by Barry Goddard

http://astrotabletalk.blogspot.co.uk/2014/05/astrology-science-and-non-rational.html

old poem... who the fuck was this about?

Ivory cheek to

cradle the broken bones of

unborn nights with you.

poem

5/15


Did anyone
care about my deaths
in past lives?

Were there
poorly attended
funerals?

Recent lovers
crying
over the newly experimented
body?

This time around:

I want my ashes
made into ink,
written a love letter with:

Sign me,
I Love You.
And,
Sincerely...

Sorry for ignoring you, blog... poem babies?

Okay so it was not the first time I received some sort of Jesus pamphlet while waiting on line at Bergen Regional for my happy pills.  This one was fun... so I tried to write about it:


On the pamphlet I found on line at the crazy house pharmacy:


Heart trouble disease
and its cure

The damaged organ
is the soul
and the disease is sin.

Jesus is the cure.

I imagine a holy
glowing fist
clenched in my chest.

But when I kiss
your stomach
and the sin of it

washes over me

It does not tighten,
nor turn black like ashes,

It opens.


~



Keeping Secrets


...Lavender in the underwear drawer.

Wearing those panties,
the lace that was no protection.

The panic attack
in the car
on the drive home.

The deer's eyes,
reflecting headlights,
mirror-like
and bumbling

Thoughts exploding in blood
and glass shattering,
metal bending and flesh compressed
into the unsuspecting
telephone pole.

(You didn't ask for a call,
making sure I was safe at home in bed,
hand down my pants
and thinking of you...)

There's inexplicable heartbreak,
I mean a heart, broken,
tangled in the carburetor,

A combustion oven flattened,
no longer expanding --
saying Go.

A deafening and then an
obliterating silence.

My body tossed 100 y
through a windshield,

to a godless and crimson heap.