Autumn Sleep

autumn air
crisp as apples
cemetery down
covers me warm
if only to dream
a little longer

autumn sleep


empty sheets

the empty sheets
of unwritten poems
the spell you’ve cast
over my soul
a joy long buried
in ruins of despair
awakened now
from stygian sleep
of cemeteries
calling to me
beneath the dawn
first glance i seek you
your heart inspires me
your body excites me
your voice reassures me
like an addiction
i can’t get enough
for you my heart aches
for you my dreams breathe
for you my arms long
when you fall
i will catch you
my arms will not let go
you are the paper
on which i write
the canvas
on which i paint
you are a masterpiece
in the making
only waiting
to be touched

little boys and psychopaths

nervous franticed panicked madness
trembling quaking insane
smooth wind flowing
through cavernous tunnels
of mucous membranes
cryptic scribbling struggling
for the slightest control
mastery of the pen
pouring through tomes of own ego
bearing open wounds to salt
probed with dirty fingers
through gaping gashes
who’s the little boy
tripping out to lyrical wisdom
understanding inspiration
chemical coolly
electric acid ballads
love street serenade
dreaming of the abandoned heart
operatic witch rite of sacrifice
marriage and fire
ebullient over the end
slow heart pumping
song injection
quivering through howl
swigging brandy
so conscious of every nerve
opening doors sneaking photographs
a picture for the first book jacket
thrilled to be embraced in the poem
of the psychopathic madman
pretending to write
driven blind by a smoky muse
tracing words as they pre consciously flash
mind speeding faster hand faster pen
each outrunning the other
legs aching for sleep neon mind
aching with madness and
forgotten lines
techno-oppressive plastic prison
isolated void of free floating visions
twisting walls with me inside
shivering exstacy over
dimensional images
sleep pushing my dreams
to your real
probing deeper
intoxicated with insanity
skull splitting fingers prying
wake up
eyes wide in dilatory hunger
anticipatory of benzedrine howls
little boys and psychopaths
hang on a cliffs edge of judgement
true gods shot down
in bloody assassinations
or conspired overdoses
the saints all sleep
when sinners walk
religion is dead in a history book
love a lost conceit
flowery ballads and epigraphs
mad prophet scribbling
clairvoyant would be’s and never were’s
nerves tingling palms dripping
soft posters bleed fluorescent souls
while hours dry up
under electric bulbs
soon to wake but never slumbered
every minute equally horrible and magnificent
falling slowly in quivering ripples
goodbye superman