Smooth Stories From A Cold Night in October
She had this mouth that could tell me stories
That fucking mouth that taught me things
Lips that concealed shredded steel Teeth and kisses that could start wildfires in the city
burning burning for that mouth
That woman was bliss
Let me tell you, man
That woman was bliss
Love Story
She thinks her bruises are attractive but they only are to me
Who else could find pain as excruciatingly appealing?
She made me a cannibal.
Her perfume filled the hollows in my bones
With every step I took, joint into socket,
I crushed the air and filled myself with her scent.
That was five days ago. And still no sign of her.
Everything is half remembered, seen through a haze
Collected and absorbed by the rain
I taste her name on my lips and my tongue and burn myself with heat of her soul
Down my throat
I can’t take this anymore
I need to feel my fingers wrapped around her bones and hear her whisper how much she loves me and to never let go
I want to break her spine
And shape her, into a new creature
My bird, my pet, my sweet one
My love; a twisted thing
A man who asks permission, is no man of mine.
My man
He takes and takes and takes
His eyes swallow cities whole
And when he breathes it’s like God is calling me
Calling me back home
Eight Days
The Private asked for my address
But I couldn’t write to him. Every time I sat behind a desk, an overwhelming feeling of anxiety overtook me.
I struggled for breath. My thoughts escaped me.
So the letters poured in, and I read them all by my window.
So much light through that small glass frame.
“I could bleed in this dry desert, and the earth would suck my blood as though it were a vampire.
“Sometimes I think I hear bells, or chimes, or maybe it’s music, leading me further into this madness. Sometimes I hear singing, and I can’t stop crying, Nadine. I can’t stop crying.
“I could kiss you, from miles away, and maybe you would feel my phantom lips on your brow.”
If I felt anything at all, it might be regret.
But people like me, we always survive the wars.
We don’t believe in anything, and we have nothing left.
Nothing to write about. Just a lonely body, occupying some space for while.
There is no hostility in my inconsiderate actions. I just never learned to care.
I hope this letter reaches you, in good health.
Ever,
Nadine
Afraid of Unknowns
I get these momentary attacks of conscience but after a while my heart calms down and I have another cigarette
I sit at the edge of my blue bed and look around this dusty room
I guess it’s not so bad
It could be worse
I could be locked in an asylum
Or dead
I guess I guess
Atleast I have my senses
I’ll have another drink of whiskey
And try to think of something else less threatening
Hazy Room
We are breathless, Robert
Breathless
Too many beacons pointing you in the right direction(s)
Searching constantly for comfort
Surrounded by ashtray forests and buzzing power lines
You can have it all
The echo of canned laughter
The glow of the television screen surrenders to your fingertips
Alone, again, tonight
It’s Windier Outside than I Thought
I parted her like the Red Sea I might dream of anything tonight
What a relief
Tell me, Tel Aviv
What is in store for me?
“I love you,” cried the chief of police
But he didn’t even need me
Distinct voids you can crawl into
Bruises from another man
Has it already been a week?
You wear your anger so well
Like a crown upon your brow
Just like a king on display
At the motel lobby across the street
And as I walk by I stare into your eyes
Rude, perhaps, I know
But no one knows me in this part of town anyway
Constantina and the Apple
Are you thinking about me?
Do you find yourself envisioning the sweet grasp of my thighs?
The love I have for you, is confined in your skin
Of course I lied to you
Why wouldn’t I?
You took my name in vain
I bled for him
The Organist
Gained nothing for the slaughter
There are bodies buried in our orchard
Children with no names
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
No words were spoken the night I took my vows
Under the moonlight, every smile seems insane
And when our bodies connected we felt acute paradise
Lead me into your Orchard
Give me a new name
I want to become heaven
And the fruit in your trees
Feel your teeth break my skin
Oh, this sweet release
The King Of Coal
The man is apparatus
The kingdom by the sea
The Holy Orchard and the fruit he picks for me
The child in me grows no longer
The life is incomplete
Still I bleed and draw your name upon my sheets
He set the truth ablaze
And burned down all the towers
The city was in ashes
The moon was overpowered
The rains came and swept the madness into the ocean.
Torrents of gray, whitewashed devotion.
It is there, where, I tasted you again.
My love, he burns for me.
What a sight to behold.
A Roman candle; a weathered bone.
I can’t let myself fall back into you.
One false move and you’ll be breathing down my neck.
My kingdom for your apples.
That is all I have left.
45 RPM
I need your Ice pick in my lungs and your hot breath on my face as we fucking massacre the other in the middle of a crowded street
I need twisted bedroom linen
Blood on my clean sheets
The meat is defrosting in the sink
Car alarm is going off ten more minutes please
I need the sweet release of suicidal daydreams
Pregnant with loathing
Mommy mommy more ice cream please
I need to get the fuck out of dodge
Two car garage white picket front lawn
My husband hates me
But I love I love I love the feel of his thumb against my neck and when he presses it’s like heaven the sheer weight of god is upon me
I want him to get rid of me
Because I am too much of a coward to do it myself
