Insecticide #26

Transfiguratively I promoted celibacy & enthusiasm,
I gave you the swamp water you had asked me for,
when isolation had your tongue.

Fluidity of speech is not equivalent
to fluidity of thought;

With intent, I love you.
But I won’t succumb to your demands.

File, order, place into jars with colored caps
and masking tape,

So many reasons to communicate with you this way,
although I cannot see you reading all my dreams
and thoughts
and masochisms.

You gouged my heart,
pried apart the scab wound from its flesh adhesive.
Then you fail to understand why I am this way with you,

Do you have no compassion;
are you so self-
absorbed that
you can’t see?

Insecticide #25

Restrain the tongue, my love;
let a little wisp of words
decorate the blank spaces in your mind;

Travel through time and within
the instantaneous array of God.

Welcome home,

No use for vacancies; be warned,
the rattling snake will find you,
and pin you to your mistakes.

So seek the intelligence, memory, and will,
to stifle all non-interactions with God.

Decorate the blank spaces in your mind,
with sophisticated concepts of time and light.

Insecticide #24

I found myself alone,
in an echo chamber,
all alone,
howling at her mirage,
hoping for her to

Offer me her heart,
once more,
the death of me.

I contemplated suicide,
could not constrain my appetite for death.

In a momentary glance I saw
the openness
of everything she ever loved
about me.

For this split second’s time,
eternity scraped by and I could feel
the hand of God
around my self.

Insecticide #23

Tallied; but not torn, not isolated.

With dampened iconographic caricatures,
blistering out through the morning light;
we gave angels beds; to lay their feet.

Up high,
between breaths of sky,
and gusts,

And crying eyes,
and dust,

We will walk,
through the garden,
to meet our maker.

Insecticide #22

Tied; but not blind, not eviscerated.

And the calculations we had made
while shooting stars with our laser cannon
proclaiming Kierkegaard’s last stand.

The white noise dissipates into the East,
where the wise men traveled from,
on that blanket night that had a never ending moon
to shine.

But you won’t hold my hand,
and say to me,
you love me.

And right now,
that’s all I want.

Someone to seize the four winds for me,
to rebuke the sands’ few last drops within the glass.

Insecticide #21

The taste of my first tears,
as I wail into an empty room,
An empty, hollow, lifeless room,
with nobody to hear me cry.

And the weight of your head
upon my breast,
has become
a dead weight.

Gabriel’s thorns are stinging me

You have stuck them in the side,
in my infection.

In my eyes,
your acidic
pools of loneliness.

But you are not worth my words.
You are not worth my wailing.
Neither my energy to curse and swear.

Instead, I will simply blot you out,
like spilled ink.