i look for her around every corner but every face is different, every fire is but smoke and embers and they say leave it, leave it yet every dream is of this, every night the tedium is racing and tiring, you and them with their spidered interactions, tight veins and dirty skin, thin suitors with…

she moves through the night like a serpent slender and rapid, wild and writhing, she is so thin you can feel her nerves through her shirt. she smells of ransom and she moves constantly, her spine dances up and down her back like a river and she does not want that feeling to stop, keep…

the muse is magnetic, drawing words to the surface by her presence or even the glimmer of, she commands those subatomic scales with electrodynamic fingertips, weaving and composing rules and laws at her smokey whim. a network of sensory overload, quick pulses in the current that bring about a need, a longing intrinsic to creation…

on the highway smell of rain on asphalt, scent of the earth’s sweat against man’s doing, taste of iron in the air. call in to question the prior years to this, the cigarettes and the rum and phantoms, pills to keep the head straight and night after night of insidious terror, feeling of madness and…

to purge ourselves of that which is most troubling we must partake of it completely, devour every last atom of its terrible force, succumb to the mounting war within against the dead feeling from that masochism. so it is then, here i am then, fatigued by a conflict i wish only to be free of,…

well the air smells like sadness and it can’t get dark fast enough, the alarm clock keeps pulling at my shirt and nicotine rings keep knocking at my front door, it’s hard to stay hid. the rum lets itself in while i’m out and really i can’t turn it away, so, you know, it kind…

i burn memory like a photograph, the image distorts and curls in on itself like a dying insect until it is gone completely. i chase down those dreams where unwanted spectres reside and snuff them out until they are gone completely. monoaural misfit, nonforgiving sound, i bury the haunting resonance and soft whispers under silence…

burn like van gogh, fire like fire and flame of flame, the skin crawls like curling smoke and there is only, only the sitting through it like ritual atonement. the slow toil of skin on paper, the rush of magnetic words pulling heart and head toward its centrifugal force, spinning night on night around some…

i waited hours and hours for the rain and i could see the birds by my window making small calculations and drawing out plans against the sky for how this would change things but it never came. it sent the clouds ahead to survey and the storm gears ground and thunder was sound yet ultimately…

what do i do here with none to play with, in the transient hours there is nothing other than this, where have you gone with wings of fire and smoke on your lips, murder in your heart and swagger in your hips. this is what the night is then, stars with strange skittering madness i…