ink bleeds on cheap paper

we are poorly set type

drifting across the page

unilluminated and fading

seconds before firsts, please

earth caked roots from a limestone cellar

simple vegetables from a begging bowl

leftovers from a peasant’s pot of magic  beans

and a wino’s empty bottles

bring to a boil

simmer

and strain to see what it means

i always seem to miss the point

lately i have been

strumming the guitar, eating figs, and renaming the constellations

but mostly wishing i had something to do

sunset strip succubus seventy six

with the shake of a hip as bait and a lip biting glance over her shoulder as a hook

she reels her catch into a dark alley

she is a love spell

a siren whose presence vibrates with her song

the only light casts a red glow on her skin

beneath a diaphanous dress,  barely a veil

nipples dark and razor erect

she stands, legs slightly parted in the sanguinary glare

grinning

he is drawn closer, unavoidably

he tries to hold firm, control the instinct rising in him

she beckons with a  seductive finger, pornographic

and a voice in his head, not from his ears whispering ”come to me”

he falls weakly into her fevered embrace

met with lips, boiling wetness

she presses harder against his mouth, the firmness of her body bearing into him,

her pussy moist and searing upon his thigh

his cock stiffens as the swelter increases

and his body becomes the conduit for a wildfire

borne by her kiss and cunt

flowing with a dark carnal passion

sweeping him away

his mind fills with images. nightmares and long forgotten terrors

among them, her face

eyes rolling, moaning, nearly coming

as the darkness, thick and oozing, mixes with the pain in his mind

she bites deeply into his flesh

and he is afraid that he too is coming

going

the leatherwing blackness of hell pours down upon his soulbody

his shell falls limply in the alley

as the ecstasy of the succubus reaches it climax.

each friday is monday

ignoring your suffering is not accepting it

samsara is a horrible little magic show

and you have the best seat in the house

and whats worse

you’ve got tickets for the next performance

a brief history of trench warfare

We knew it was our last night in that trench so we got drunk on the wine we took from the corpses of the Italian soldiers . We laughed as hard as we could in the face of death, inevitable and delayed, knowing in the morning the Kraut line would roll lethally over us.

I told the boys all I loved them and Joey told me he that he loved me too. I told Joey that I didn’t love him like that and no one laughed, because we all knew Joey did love me like that.

untitled

a small fading cloud

lingers over china hat

all things pass in time