Decay Into Sleep Swiftly

                         i.

D   eft-defiant, dining in candle-light while
   dying, adepts dance with your
doom out, crying, you can’t
erase the spoken word’s glamour,
our wedding bells were funeral
chimes wooing an aromantic poet,

I’m hypersexual and not at
all sensitive, as verbal as
I am oral, no interest
whatsoever in relationships, wholly devoted
to my own immortality’s mausoleum
drowned in prayer, wet footprints

on a dry night appear,
drawn to the downtrodden who
wallow here wanting a name
that blisters on the face
of a page tracing across
flesh of shadow soft and

hollow to the touch as
the bones of birds, rustling
clouds of feathers unfurled to
gather together glances onlookers pour
forth trembling and perturbed as
you stain the glass of

every screen you worship violence
on, oh, the cliques the
likes of which you prey
upon! Betraying the silver of
these phalanxes of rings are the
cuckolding sphinxes winging webbed embraces,

                         ii.

scaffolding surrounding my fingers your
handshake wounds as it wears
down my façade, framing against
a break my interest my
greeting fakes flailing serpent tongues
twined ’round the same sing-song

sing-along the Madonna of Trauma
flaunts, incantations etched in emulsion
caution the lens is a
portal, the screen is a
mirror endearing shadow and light
entombed in celluloid amber, sparks

martyred to beauty using silver
slivers of a shattered mirror
glimmer, narrow my world to
the candle before me, balladeer
to all the whores who
led me to culture, offering

a love of which I
am incapable, atmospheres we live
through our dead envelop feasts
of the renunciation, ordealing the
courtesy of an ultimatum, to
get out of town or

else, figuratively-eighting, infinity negated is
the symbol of divorce alembic-broken,
Leviathan Rebis of Chiron and
Lilith, healing in the cold
shadow of my black moon,
denuded, irreparable injury kisses dig

                         iii.

an occasional grave, take away
as they take place what
taste pain always will replace,
makes gold glow the way
of frosted glass hasted time’s
passage can only be marked

by degradation, taskmasters a whore’s
progression that is a sexual
cliché flattered with a beautiful
face and backwards feet, creeps,
walks into our bedroom and
wastes until All Souls’ days

hanging from my last vein,
annotates Gulag’d-in vows, what follows
is a voice in the
void, an echo of a
noise annoyed at the joys
our shadow denies explication, too

cautious despite the obvious enervation,
polluted gratitude postulates Los Angeles
as the edge of this
Universe, decays making promises I
don’t intend to keep, dicktaker
holed-up in my bedroom-cum-tomb, winking-through

a more perverse Morse wound
for my fellow Sodomites to
thrust through, strobing pulse enough
neon becomes blood to push
until punished whine watered with
cascade rush bruises blush to

                         iv.

consume, blooming booming orders imploring,
‘Fill my flesh with your
colour, you know me, Just
One, No Other®, so really,
though, why even bother?!’ because
we do what we do

to feel the weightlessness of
mattering to strangers whose expectations
our hubris works to shatter,
fellow travellers of æther neither
of us perceives to be
our reason but what otherwise

feeds back what we bleed,
feeding on feedback blacker than
hackneyed folklore rewired to inhabit
my voice, the way a
man wears an animal’s corpse,
to lord over nature performing

traits in vernacular porn informs
traffic-jammed saints, pain is too
great that even death cannot
stop it, but the loss
of what never was, wanting
to come what never does,

a love that outlasts our
Selves, a hope outside of
us hesitating, wading in a
pool reserved for the baptism
of the dead, initiating witnesses
for the execution enginerring

                         v.

anecdotes, mistake survives by firelight
faking-it, facetious as the conveniently
religious who purchase en masse
mechanically-reproduced images of a hyperbolic
crucifiction, enigmatically regurgitating anticipation of
an invention bled from another’s

imagination, beggaring belief begging again
and again the same question:
is this him who is
always coming? some perpetual indiscretion,
this unholy disquisition, attempting to
interrogate a conviction forever escaping

reason, appealing to those for
whom logos replace logic in
this endless race against intelligence,
marathoning with all the paranoiac
magic of a ladder of
magnetic angels hovering a river

beneath our lies, hyperlinked, led
by what I long for
to die forgotten by my
paramour whose pair of eyes
appears inside of my shield
my suitors, like Medusas, mercilessly

seek, that by hiding its
mirror the truth whose beauty
I fear might subside, die
as breath always does, frost
evaporating from silver under the
wait of a stare’s anticipation.