pretty-paradox

Pure – as the Madonna's tissue where the canvas is worn, She offers herself as Magdalene to me, Happily entombed in gay ink, attended by lies. Dripping roses from red eyes, two small vaults of heaven. Far, far away from these rough clumsy caresses, Thunder rolls across this brow – Frustration sweats forms pools on fingertips, Set some rivers in motion, but don't smudge anything forbidden – That's for later. What is pure anyway? I am as pure as catacomb dust Breathe it in, breathe it in, Mix your gender and I will mix mine with someone else's. I am as pure as Judas with his prize, And then some. I like to creep, where the h

I. Under a counterfeit name, I pour through valleys. The dusty tomes of Salamanca – behind these two necks now. Tor upon tor, with grasses green and waving - Like some secret jade sea – Flowing wild and rapid in a hushing wind -   Concealing salivating jaws – yellow and grey. Breed bats, breed bats – flurry of velvet, fang, claw – Unfold into the night, under yellow moon -   Envelopes of black. Each small hillock – back of leviathan Appear, disappear from view, under cloud clad night. Beneath yawning heavens, frightful sounds from gaping mouths. Now into the heart of something new– trees tou

A tomb inside a womb.  Inside a womb-like tomb - Old blood caked blind walls - Released the retch they were protecting. He, born into a moving world –  encrusted with sticky pearls. The sweet life forgets him, now. i would have hung his tomb – (my womb) with roses – if i had known. and now the demonesses come. Down there supposed staircase of mercy- Made from all my limbs and things, Which hurt all the more to remove. Ladies and gentlemen, for my next trick. Let us redirect them. Taste some brimstone, swallow some ash, Lets make their skulls bloom, Bleach bone in brightest black. Lets laugh with God at them - yes th

Moving in yellow light   Overflowing- Sink, sink, into a violent sea Float like a tiny boat.  Battered and bowing On a silent sea Load my lungs and now I'm choking Flesh green and glowing On an ill-tempered ocean Commotion, commotion – waves in motion         Foam and froth their foreign tongues frame Languages I cannot name. His armour of silver scale erupting fanlike tails Beneath sallow skin pervade Plunge me beneath the waves.

Where the canvas is torn Peal back like flesh, surprised Prized, prize away the flies Their lives were little white lies. Dimming light in those four sunken black eyes Sinew beneath a yellow stew Photographs of bone, red dew There was one ghost in the lens Now there are two. Its not time to rest those weary heads On soil, grass, its not yet time for bed. The radio's play out their final hum Hearts beat one last drum, drum, drum.

A plump lady that went by Ms. Froufrou Wore too many tutus to dance school And on one fateful day While performing ballet Ms. Froufrou's two tutus both split into two twos

A man presumed dead Woke up from his slumber With a blade in his head Due to medical blunder

Tiny fingers crawl and reach through the gaps in the green curtains. They press on the cold, 8 AM glass; your face full of wonder. You're witnessing Autumn in the whirl-wind of leaves, shed from the pear tree I planted to mark your birth. It grew as if it had already died: brown and withered. Boughs strung out, forming thick leaves, golden green with roots rearing down into the soil. You squeal in delight as the porky Jack Russell (from across the road) sniffs the narrow oaks that line and shade our driveway. I remember planting them, twigs no higher than my knees. I crouched on my feet and dug my fingers into the soil, hooking the old roots