Two wings of the choir
Crushed by Te Deum and Dies Irae.
Rioting crowds clamber,
Not with a whimper but a whine.

A poor cur’s lapse.

Square dwellers begging for change,
An arid spring.
Cold, unmarked, grave.
Birds flown to entropical climes.
Sore ire cysts sick eyes saw.

Poised upon collapse
A poor cur’s lapse.
And with a pauper’s lisp
In slips apocalypse.

The lying and the lamb:
Unlikely bedfallows.
Cloistered bones, now free,
Hung from streetlights, gibbering.
Tongue-tied tastemakers,
Sage and sinnerman,
Where ya gonna run to?
Babel on.

One final brass blast
Of an Arc/Angles geomatria.
Seize to exist.
Yea, judge me
But parse sentences.

Heartbeaten, youthless.
The long liquid list.
Yea, judge me
But parse sentences.

Kaliyuga, Roman a-Kaliph:
Rioting crowds clamber.
High priest of the hip gnosis.
Cog dollared, sintaxed,
Preaching for stares
In the bend of a neck.
Stern man on the mount.
Master of collusions.

Apocaliphate.
Successions
Of your untied states:
A silted delta of cents.

Kaliyuga,
A twist of Tarot wrist:
Our future in rows and lays.
The hollow ritual of suffer-rage.
Poison:
“Fight for the right to bare arms.”

Apocaliphate.
Successions
Of your untied states.

The final successions
Of your untied states:
A repressed unpopulous
Trading inner sense
For prophets.
That was the whimper
Of our discontent.
The fisherking distributes
Poisson and anti-doubt:
“Fight for the right to bare arms.”
…(Or conceal, conscript or cross them.)…
“Sinking scrapheap ships.”
…(And their shivering boarders)…
“A commonwealth”
...(of common filth)…
…(the weak shall inherit the work)…

Very impotent people
Vary in portent.
You better run from
The City of Refuse.

One soul smeared too thin.
Or torn, raw-edged and aching.
Eternally tangled together
Past flesh, beyond bone.
She steals the light from me,
My night bruises her face.

Only our muted hate
To fill the cold hour.
(Dragged down in
dreams of jealousy).
Only our muted hate
To fill the cold.
One of us must go.
One of us.

Convicted for the crime
Of consciousness conjoined.
Slipping cord that binds
Is knotted, is noosed on our necks.
She steals the light from me,
My night bruises her face.
(Another face boils
Under mine in the mirror).

Only our muted hate
To fill the cold hour.
(Dragged down in
dreams of jealousy).
Only our muted hate
To fill the cold.
One of us must go.
One of us.

We’ll increase with subtraction.
But combined, zero sum.

If she rises from the fire
I’ll choke on her ash.
Reaching beyond
The bars of my breast,
I stifle the heart
Of my silent twin.
Reaching beyond the bars,
I stifle the heart
Of my silent twin.

Unabel am I,
My words in murdermouth.
In the bell of throat a mark is jarr’d.
To err is human
I am the king of men.

Master of collusions in
The first three ticks of Time.

Pixels of my skin in the sun.
A palimpsest limp
Under layers of lacquer.
Forshaken,
The quavering crotchets of my stave.
Sage and sinnerman:
“You oughta be preyin’”

Master of collusions in
The first three ticks of Time.

The knife in my back
Is a key winding down.
Skin thin as biblepage.

Heals in the tug, so tired.
Weight for the wave, tsun on me:
My era of errors erased.
My frozen kneecaps
Melt and flood the seize,
An overtaxed levee.
The pie-eyed piper
Trailing shamblin’ children.
Mice-ash and raw ones,
Foreshaken,
Chilled, ring my heart.

All kneel, elated.
Annihilated.

Psoriastasis.
My skin in the wind
Sloughs off in sheets.
A palimpsest limp.
Pixels of my skin in the sun.

Skin thin as biblepage.

Waif and Pardoner
Two babels in arms.
I, Shiva, in her winds,
Twitch like a cur-tongue.
The last twitch, flickers
of desire.
The trysts and turns.
The burden of the body bodes
Of sin new and vain tangle;
Of sole trades for slave salve.

A Medean archetypecaste
Combing a serpent’s coils,
Six slit cysts
On its wrists,
Finds fractured footholds
And climbs up my spine.
Kick ensnared
Grown from gravedirt.
A deimondess.
Flips faces like a coin.

Umbillically wound wound-wise.
Noosed, lowered then loosed.
Waxed and waning, a lunatic skull.

Syllables of name
Drop like stones
From the mouth.

Waxed and waning, a lunatic skull.
Its tidal pulls of uterine brine.
Kalipha Kaligulant:
A man’s true blood.
Sixual Demiurge.
God in four letters.

God in four letters.

Torn by torment and tumbled to terra,
Fall fell, fell foul.
Back in chaos like a divining bell.

Fallen, still falling.
We fallways all.
Heartbeaten and scatterleaving
Fall from wold to world.
Fallen, still falling.
We fallways all.
Heartbeaten and scatterleaving
L’enfer motion

Mary (typhoid), adamant, evenly splits,
Aleph (aloof), a fool, accepts
A tapeworm tangled round the stolen seed.
And falling on forbidden fruit
We named, and knew, and rued things.

Fallen, still falling.
We fallways all.
Heartbeaten and scatterleaving
Fall from wold to world.
Fallen, still falling.
We fallways all.
Heartbeaten and scatterleaving
L’enfer motion

What rumour of the host
Does the tumour boast?
What do riders know of mount
Bar blood dripping from whipping?
What if what you know as “You”
Is a parasite?

You better run from the city
Of refuse.

An awareness of wearing less
And the harness of History.
The bastard babies borne into blood.
A daymans’s wrist in the pangenecyst.

Fallen, still falling.
We fallways all.

A dayman, I cover my eyes,
Blinded by sunset and rise.
Irony is an escape from history.
Hook in my cheek like tongue.

From freeways to buyways,
Streets bisect streets.

Two polar lamps in the lostlight
Parazeit and the Master of Collisions.
Traces of the tangled timetrail
Like smears of tire on the tar.
Weight of my weakness
In their weft.

From freeways to buyways,
Streets bisect streets.
I’d read a dreadfull fall:
Homes quaking on clayfeet.

Parazeit, underparsed,
Bypast and passed over.
In the silted delta of streets,
Down to crossroads.

A bleak bargain was struck.
A weak will was waged.
Parazeit hovers at history’s hind,
A weak will.
Wonderlost in infirm motion.
Collisions, history’s knifeblade,
Shears off the streets.
What remains after the clash
Between them?

What remains after the clash,
Must rise from rubble and ash.
What remains after the clash?
A shattering of bone and glass.

A dayman, I cover my eyes,
Blinded by sunset and rise.
Irony is an escape from history.
Hook in my cheek like tongue.

I will blooddye the doors of my house
And flood chambers of lung and heart.
I will blooddye the doors of my house
And flood deltas of the vein.

I dig through my navel.
Feel the unravelling of bones
And the deltas of the vein,
Now noosely knotted.
This unspooling body…

What worth is one in this world?

(A hail of nails
In the hardwood)
What good a protector
Who varies in potence?
(The weight of their
Weakness in my weft).
What use a cystem
Enslaved to its shivering?
Unmanned, dismantled
I’ll make a tent of my skin.
I’ll sever the heartstring
To allow them their run.

I will blooddye the doors of my house
And flood chambers of lung and heart.
I will blooddye the doors of my house
And flood deltas of the vein.

I unspill the thread of my gut.
Tie it in a thresher’s hold.
Build the brick of my muscles

I ask you to enshrine my failures.
They are the synbols of man.
I ask you to discard my flesh.
It is the synbol of mud.
I ask you for silence on my soul.
Please see my grave is kept clean.
I ask you for silence on my soul.
I ask you to discard my flesh.

Dipping my palms deep in my well
I withdraw a butcher’s tell,
The slickly coagulant gloves.
I smear my prayer, crosswise, on the door.