Crack My Skull (a poem)

Remove the flesh from my face
Reveal the gorgeous skull beneath
All my memories you will erase
Resentments that make me seethe
Crack my skull, drink my blood
Bury me in the field over yonder
Do it now before the floods
When the Devil’s land is conquered

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Sycophants in Spring (a poem)

The world wakes up each spring
I notice warped smiles
Birdsong is back, hideous
On sunny, manic blue-sky days
An energy is something
You feel in the body
The way trauma is stored
Each time psychosomatic
Tensions mount
A naked man smiled at me in the
Bread aisle, and what a smile!
I noticed the weariness of
His wrinkled face and I remembered
Not everything is well
There are sycophants among us
They hide in sticky crowds
They could be anywhere, believe me
Spring is a time for violent vigor
And a harbinger of obsession
The sensual beauty out there
Sometimes hides the disdain
And the madness

Extinction (a prose poem)

Extinction is the only way. It happens slowly. I am walking in the winter streets; everyone is a stranger. Even the people I know. We can’t know who people really are. Maybe this is a side effect of grief. There are considerable and small losses, but they accumulate over a lifetime.

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Destructors (a poem)

Last night in the pouring rain
I heard screams inside my head
A laugh, too, then a guttural cry
All the pain and feelings, the dread
Soaked in the torrent, lost, confused
The city is a maze of waste, gore
Faces don’t look real anymore
Held at gunpoint, bloodshot eyes
Bated breath, I have been defiled
Rain washes down the windows
Red as the poisoned blood
And to think that I never loved
A soul, a hole gaping in my head
Where the worms crawl in
The laughing man pulls the trigger
Heads explode with tremendous vigor
I sit here, wet, left to wonder
If each lightning strike
And rumble of thunder
Is a sign of more death
And unlimited hunger
Of destructors

(Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash)

The Devil Hiding in Plain Sight (a poem)

The searchlight found the devil
Hiding in plain sight
He has always been a vessel
For the children of the night

He sees me in my dreams
I can never quite escape him
Whenever I go to scream
He peels off my skin

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Witches Chant their Spells (a poem)

The witches chant their spells
And we wallow in our private hells
We listen to tolling church bells
We wonder what compels us
To circle around the cauldron
And obey sinister doctrines

Witchcraft is not always evil
But it is in my little village
Our laws are quite medieval
And we have revoked privileges
Of the saints in the town square

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Burn it Down (a poem)

I want to burn it all down
I’m not proud of it
But I must admit
I’m drawn to the destruction
Like a moth to a flame

The death-instinct deep inside
Driving down the highway
Passing the car crash
And turning my head
To see if anyone’s dead

It’s deplorable – this overwhelming urge
And I notice how it surges
And it’s like a scourge
The self-sabotage and the purge
That puts us on the verge
Of tearing everything down

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The Darkness That I Transcend (a poem)

What is this beast that rises from the sludge?
My friend thinks it’s quite amazing
It’s obvious that I have misjudged
The beast’s insatiable cravings

It has swallowed my family whole
In one terrifying gulp
Now it will not let up control
Our insanity is the result

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The Pain of Living (a poem)

My skull is packed with worms
They slither and they squirm
But let’s be serious now
Let’s scamper in the streets and prowl

When the machines fell from the sky
I got a burning sensation in my eyes
The satellites crashed through our roof
And the pain of living was quite acute

The preacher told me God was dead
He’d supervised the killing himself
Then he stood up and declared
He was moving to a different realm

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