An Empty Catacomb of Prayer #23

Impermanent psychology,
test subject number 194599736;
I abhor your calculations.

Subversive verse is
conjoined apostasy
blurred into a cannibalistic
subterfuge of grime and toys.

Here in the conglomeration
of speed junkies
dousing, drowning, burbling their last breaths.

I am an ontological extremist;
sexual reformist.
Catastrophe harrier expletive
purified by the sun,

But there’s no end to this pollution of the soul,
filth and toxic waste; sludge bombs.
Eroding circuitry.

Here I am, Lord.
Rewire my induction grooves & capillary counterparts.

An Empty Catacomb of Prayer #22

Godless nights,
trapped in my own devices.

Through a quaternary field;
they slowly divide my anger.
And I push, and they pull;
and somewhere in between
comes the long, deep, guttural moan.

Is it fantasy?
Or mere forgotten shores which lead me to your door?

Depths of field,
shadows sometimes,
a cure placed upon my eyes.

I am not so surreal a person
nor a thing,
as you.
As I have want to;


An Empty Catacomb of Prayer #21

What little fears I’ve left,
tucked away beneath my breath;
as sky goes gray,
and all that haunts me
settles to the surface of my mind.

I’m open to you,
And I’m dissecting my selfish skin,

And punishment could not
abolish this transcendent star;
neither could my feeble love
redeem the vocality of our

An Empty Catacomb of Prayer #20

whorls of good and evil’s manifestation.

We looked into the divine conundrum
and caught a glimpse
of the Holy Grail.

Host & hostess,
imported wines;
luminescent pearls of wisdom,
and devotion’s beads
draped around our necks.

These synthetic fantasies
challenged by a deeper seated scar,
what would would pass
night into day,
into ours.

So I swim
against the current of the pool,
pushing my feverous and bloated mass
into the gut of some ascension.

Big fish, swallow me whole,
so I may enter into this eternal
cultivation of souls & energy.

An Empty Catacomb of Prayer #19

When the winds of my internal combustion
metamorphosis shifted phase; with the moon
in low orbit, with the sun beating down upon
my flat and expansive terrain,

Grimoire catharsis; an order placed,
fast food lethargical reconstruction of Eden’s

city of the blind.

at the hour of the night
you do not know when,
siege towers are built up
against your walls,
and everything is laid waste.

Love is not inherently

But blindness
in the sinkhole of matter & mind,
is caused by love’s lost inquiries.

I have fallen,
nay, I already fell
before the beginnings of time & space.
Fell into oblivion, almost.
And am stuck now in this strand of web.

An Empty Catacomb of Prayer #18

This heat between us grows
and in fiction, molecules remain the same;
thirty odd
distractions in my mind,

My love grew thin,
and weak; and I exposed
to heat. The heat between us;
and I let go.

Now I try to glue
these partially
deconstructed panels
to make the grave
to settle in my soul.

To be a resurrected god,
mortuary savior in the
desecrated filth beyond the mire.

And I lay,
a complicated mess
a heterogenous pool
of synthetic sinusoidal glass.