love
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Waiting for the Miracle. Watching her barefoot body moving to invisible music, she is a sentient flower dancing with the wind. And “I just want to destroy something Beautiful.”
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My Goth Name Is Becky a Blues poem for Sarah Vowell. I sing the suburban American girl electric blues. I sing the red haired, white skinned, blues eyed girl bottom shelf vodka tonic ice blues. I sing the suffragette, subjugated, suppression blues. Harmonic wail of the locomotive steel slide upscale dive bar blues. Twenty first century
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All I Want is to Write The Poem All I want is to write the poem that makes the mute girl sing. All I want is to write the poem that frightens cherub faced girls. All I want is to write the poem that gets me excommunicated by the pope and I ain’t even catholic.
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Now That Is A Real Gentle Man It is trying to rain again and I am trying to catch the bus to see you. I ride the metal beast drowning in the cacophonous roar of vapid Conversationalist ignoring the hostile little faces of the tribe As we all ride from Westside lead poisoned slums to the
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The Eschatology Of Our Mad Love Hangs Over Our Necks Like The Blade Of A Guillotine One day she would be gone. It was always her ace in the blackest whole of our universe. The ultimate cunt Goddess of our big daddy gang bang cosmos from the ecstatic screaming orgasmic beginning to the whimpering Hippocratic
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Tell Me I am… “I know it’s pretty. But, I didn’t take it out just to get some air” -Requiem for a Dream Beautiful. How long have we starred over the edge of the abysmal end, two disembodied ego eating eyes mesmerized forgoing everything we know of nothing? We have secret carrion cravings and bestial
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Dreams of Impermanence She is trying to bend A silver tablespoon With her mind And a man to her will. Whatever he was When they met it was Not enough they have Grown in different directions. One has grown older The other has grown up If he will only genuflect Worship me in prayer. Celebrate
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Confessions of a Poolhall Philosopher I create nothing from the infinite within. I am not an artiste my words are clumsy my tongue thick with this alien vocabulary. I am a vessel I do not claim to control only to resonate. I listen to the voice of my people to see the emperor has no
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Incubus for Kyle Vaughn We meet, Two psychic vampires Anxious to feed and be fed upon, Hungry only for a feast of souls. We circle, each the other, On cat’s paw’s. We stop, to stand human hieroglyphs Before we slash open our spirits And bleed into each other’s souls.
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Full of Sin for captain zombie The nightmare, the forest, the fullness of sin I wish I knew now what I knew back then A young enchantress’s eyes so wise Drinks me with her cup of knives Eats me with her teeth of glass Eats me with her hungry ass Invites me to hide
Joey Cloudy online 