made of fear




her grey hair lifts from where it spreads across the pillow,

she wakes in a sweat.

she believes in her dreams,

paying close attention to the man wielding the axe,

made of wisps, made of fear.

she moves to stand up.

surrendering to her will, surrendering his axe,

the man lies down on her mattress, engulfed in her scent,

dreaming of ashen tresses,

and of slender arms lifting a glistening axe.






i am a ball of lies; truth entwined(?)

all i know is that i wasn’t born with a moral code.

it’s true that what i make believe is not true

because it is only true to my own senses(?)


then nothing is true, nothing is real, nothing makes sense, nothing is here,

nothing is.




i was told to have a festival within me

a sort of unexplained hoopla

but inside me it is stoppered

and nothing good is festering

progressive banter, skin tight schedules, self made deadlines,

g, wake up early, love life



i cannot channel the spirit that will

help me look forward to paying bills

it will be done in the timely manner as one hopes ,

with no beating of the drum

no sayonce

nothing to smile about, really.o for it



i have undressed a thousand times

but i still do not know myself naked

why should i, when all i have done

is plaster my image on to a canvas too good

for the likes of my oozing pores

i could scrub out all that is earthly within me

and i’d still wake with soft dirt in my mouth

 bound to places, times, memories, maggots

so what is id, if not a tooth rotting precisely where it should

gyrating against the pelvis of ignorantia

i thrust the impressions i have of myself

underneath fervent currents

and carry on,

dirt in my cavities,

dust in my eyes.

who dies in july



i’m a mess these days

and these days are melting away

like candles on the back porch

in the heat of july


it’s only june

i’ve leaped ahead of myself

i’ve made notes and revised

and welcomed the crippling fear a few weeks early


it comes with perks, the subconscious montage,

it comes with the tune for a morbid little lullaby :


who will die, who will die in july

father, step father, friend, feline?

who will die, die and die,

in stationary,

somber, arid july?