The Shade Leans In

Circe 514
The prick objects
The cock the whore
Cracking chewing relaxing in
A gas-powered overcoat

Snap and bite nibbled kittenish
Opens silverfoil
Conjured impelling fingers to go
Up piece by given piece
Til passing the door

Empty Rooms

The Wandering Rocks 284

Shout the organ!
Tap the tuning fork!
Now, start to strike the song
Played like mermaids, breaking wind.

The summer father
Has the keys he
Who growls and sometimes shrieks
Pouring bronze he
Sits at home he
Plays the skin of
The dead wife he

Rehearses with the blind asses he
Seems to be what you call
Jolly fate.

Now, What's Wrong With A Withered Hand?

The Sirens 312



The exercise of violence
Has a reputation for pocketing the change
And leaning in
With the agility of fear

Meanwhile, indifferent clergy
Betting on execution
Applauds the sleeping audience
Before circulating the truest of blood

Christmas

Id-Less Creatures

The Lotus Eaters 130


Daedalus holding out a hand
The torn foot
The elocutionary obsession

With toga and cloacca
Are not shit and death
One and the same?

Suppliant youth
Rushed to forgetting
Your Governor is gone

Solstice

Circe 552
A simple prostitute with
Mouth full of cream her
idols are dead winter strawberries
Seen by an eye through a keyhole

Whispered lovewords under
Lukewarm water
To take a snapshot and be brought back

Like a stamped receipt
Signed with open mouth

In the Valley -Telemachus 28

Burying the edges
Beyond the trampled bones
Saved from love
But given up to loneliness

The lean neck of the snail
The sums of stained dismay
The bed of ashes
The blind tongue

A poor soul gone to heaven

197 Laestrygonians

Buck Mulligan,
We sit and drink our money
Murmurs of murder the
Gargoylian creeping over to the arts
Of December.

In the meantime the Sentimentalists
Brandish wine bottles and gleefully threaten
The newly dead while
The priests piss on the vestibule door

This is the reason for our vertigo.