words

those obsidian obelisks of genetic masonry
pushed small red devils
through the birth canal of this impetuous womb,
the old way, head and heart aflame.

they grew with great love
from materials forged of anti-worlds,
tooth and nail and hysteria,
maniacal musings and slick laughter,
the hackles of amused doom
in those oddly pale and tranquil eyes.

a fist of the earth
this hell convex and naked of mystery
still wearing the placenta
of incestuous guilt,
the fucking and the fighting,
warring and preaching,
all linear and lacking parent axes,
just exposed and strange and new.

her heart combusted like sudden riots,
the makings of those years gone
and now only ripples remained,
the epicenter long expired,
embracing in a clouded room of strangers
coalescing there like children in darkness,
grasping for some hold on the world
and the way of things,
the taste of what this night would bring,
skin soft and delicate
wrapped in this covenant,
warriors of old testament principle
so antiquated were the eyes that watched them there.

lust in this hour, no room for other sins,
the onerous ghost of love trailed slow and melancholy
from moment to moment with glaring disapproval,
all in due course the death of those devils
will bring about a sadness absolute;
they are freedom in raw form like clay dolls
lacking rule or logic and adhering
only to primal warfare,
the lord himself must be raised and crossed again
before these acts will be forgotten.

-S.C. Martinez