Insecticide #28

Sulphuric acid, in context,
creates a meme of intelligent art,
and in my wailing and my waning and my waxing heart,
I strip myself bare like Frank.

Only mine is a more corrupted gesture.

what will we do now, with this irreconcilable rift?

It is not in chains,
my heart,
not chained to a lover.

I am free,
but feeding
off her love’s givings.

Now the tree is bare,
like my wound,
sap extracted,
and withered,
and dead.

Insecticide #27

Swallow these words,
let them shatter as they drop
from an overflowing cup
of speech; and swallow
these impurities, to make them go away.

I will not
obsess. I will not,
guess what goes through your attentive consciousness.

Italian speech permeates my audible experience;
and when I purge myself of tears,
it is your face I beg for.

It is the loving grasp
of your hand in mine,
it is a solid and tangible love
I miss.

Not these drawn out speeches,
exchanges of words and tongues,
meaning essentially nothing.

Hard, factual love,
that you once offered me.

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.