Poem: Guillotine



We come in sadness,
And leave in sadness,

In the end,
All our spires will burn down,
And all of your verdicts,
No matter how well played,
Will always be against you

You can rage and cry,
And squeeze your mattress
Until it oozes bloody droplets

But once the guillotine has severed
The cerebellum from the spinal column,
Then all the hopes of soul and body –
Psyche and Cupid –
To overcome their fatal disunity,
Are left in the trash heap of remorse

The veil is broken,
Mass is over,
The stars go on their course

Poem: Penally Andromeda


My heart, still palpitant wound,
From the thrifted cliffs, pleading,
Scarlet slithers down the rocks,
Into the blue-black sea, bleeding

Offerings to ancient stone,
Thistles of the wave’s foam thatchers,
In the sky, herring gulls roam,
Curlews, doves, and oystercatchers

From sandy dunes, blue bell paths,
Legs wending to soft liaison,
To anchorage where hermits chant
Heart-felt cries of ‘Kyrie, Eleison”

Head sky-full of amorous thoughts,
Heavy chest from love’s sharp ache,
See the motions of the tide,
Hear the thrashing wavelets break,

Healing comes but once a lifetime,
How I’ve waited, loved, and longed,
To feel the touch of true completion;
The savage blow of Asclepius’ wand

Will it come, or will I lie?
Hollow reply to empty pleading,
Trickling scarlet as I die,
Feed the ocean with my bleeding

Poem: Hymn of Dionysus

death of orpheus.jpg

In the thrill of my flesh
From the altar of my wounds,
To the serpentine sewers, collecting
With wine and rotting meat;
In the orgiastic symposia
Of chthonic, all-night vigils

I suffer so you can be happy

With my muscles loose and tender,
Aching with the care of Orphic hymns,
Spilling its desire, and the very vine of hope,
Where the cells of my dismemberment
Are the fruits of your joy

I suffer so you can be happy

When you dance depraved in your candle-lit revels,
Or howl from the tops of war-like promontories,
While you sing hymns unto my pain,
From the rooftops of cathedrals

I suffer so you may be happy

But tracing back through the ossuaries of times,
To the fevered delight in the bread and the wine,
Pull at your helices and you shall find:

I suffer so you may be happy,
I suffer so you may be happy