the fabulous neologism

I am a Pacman for secrets
         I love to absorb your l[o]st
      while you call me divorced/

         Ever wonder if Sheogorath
                             had a brilliant point?

                        This work is my Wabbajack


reap the harvest

Well met, lovely gardener,
        languishing with the Sun
   every morning:
I wait while you’re awash
    fierce dripping flesh
              in your rainshower

I am your honeysuckle reward
  no one cared properly for or since
      & when I rebel I break through
   concrete in sacrilegious color

              know despite my visceral thorns
                           in conscious relief
                          I seek your vengeance,
           for all your faithful labors gone remiss

under your warm meticulous nature
                 I will become ideal


a girl loves an ambiguous grandisonant smith

I always ruminate on death & though I swallow the fact that it’s inevitable I serve the entity with a restraining order
         [knowing damn well it won’t stay away] perhaps it’s my aesthetic

                      no matter the case
        It’s only a paper slip
                to a human skull
      these words are
                    immortal/in that, you & I
           are supple peas in a mod

                weaving our legend

in the absence of light

        I sense poetry in all forms
   ____in every consumable
        it simply needs to be constructed
       from news articles on the expanding universe to brief snippets of conversation [seconds & seconds on seconds]

                my doomsday fate
       tragic shut in-case
    timid & belligerent to a world
        without you>>> fit for demolition


I woke expecting you there

I need undisturbed sleep
   I need not be consumed
    as silky smooth vore
     for the imaginative

          I need to keep my soul intact
    I’m screaming out in my dreams
             simultaneously not making a sound
         & when I creep up behind

              you’ll leap out of your skin


analog horrorshow.

the more I try to flesh out my creator the more I find myself estranged, there are times I am horrified but I hope against hope we are not really just a string of reality TV
               though I have proof we are always being watched, changing the channel requires another suit, another set, a change of patterned tie. How insatiable our audience.
            If you’re upset I swear you’ll wake up soon. Don’t let it win. I promise you’re going to remember everything. You’ll finally see yourself outside of yourself like a husk. Time is not fundamentally real.
               Goodbye for now.

/_> LM

prostitute named Faith in South Central

You took a leap of faith showing
               your face here,
                            gotta say I like it
     keep coming back.

     I’d tip you personally for your patronage
   because poetry is wet
               attention is golden
         & my words smell of death
     somewhere the carcasses of old
        bloom with stiff petals|
    collapse to dust

   You know this shit keeps me lifted?
         I read what I like and who
              I like are the ones ridged with
       passion, unafraid to get
                           their ass kicked

                I hope it’s not one sided
       I’ve had enough of unrequited love
                  for thirty one seasons



I am a far cry
         from the girl
   next                       door.
  A satin riot slipped in a human socket & all my turbulence comes with hurricane force winds, indulge me at your leisure/be prepared to greet the neverafter.
       I leave a glow behind like the green fairy, radioluminescence holding hands with thujone. A walking emergency exit sign lit all the time & I don’t mind because I prefer stars over streetlights. It reminds me of home.
       I am the succubus you summoned in your passenger seat. The lowlit mischievous eyes glimpsing the rearview, eying you as you drive. I can’t wipe the smirk off. It’s one of many birthmarks. I’ll direct you on my pallid map to

the rest of

                         what’s left.


the function of awe

Someone compared me once
      to Gretchen Ross,
          when I was in school
          & I twirled away the hour

         chasing skeleton jumpsuits
     & gray hoodies
           knowing someday
    someone would see Frank, too


a girl plants roses on Mount Vesuvius

My heart jumps loudly ahead beat by beat for a millisecond and it scares the fuck out of me, steals my breath and makes me question in that second if a second is all I’ve got left, & if it was, the first thing that springs to mind I’d never want to leave behind is you, nothing more astride the void the forever open door the bridge the hidden forge the lonely glow behind the Veil than you

& where your emptiness is, my love awaits to erupt like so much color/the birth of a nebula

there are black holes that go rogue & eyeballs in space with less thrust ahead/

momentum ad infinitum