A choreography in shadows, pulsing in the indigo twilight, less oxygen, more whiskey, in a circle of silhouettes, naked in uninhibited rage, “Rollin’ in my sweet baby’s arms.” The fiddler’s bow was missing three horsehairs, and the fourth was...

He didn’t return to the bomb-hole until Monday, a beautifully warm sunny day with a mild south-westerly wind, perfect for swimming. Alone, he plunged into the ice-cold water, crawling as far as the mass of tangled brambles, lichen petrified...

I am a shadow of twilighta charade of fleshmasqueradingI am the scavengerof your fatescreamingI am the graveof your decaying corpsetaunting your bonesI am your miseryof your adultress memorieslying underfootI am a shadowof your grotesque  

Becoming my quill's poetic voyeur  tasting the fly in the ink  the dark side of my hors d'oeuvre  listening to silence whispering in my ear  as if lusting scorpions crawling my back  among the shadows in my mind's oasis...

In the darkness of your poseythe cunt's thoraxwith it's sleeping tonguewhere the shadows dwell with the breath of your soul dripping a staccatoon my blood-stained Nikeslistening to the voices singing"Bring your love home to me"

A wise owl of veiled memories  dreamless sleep shadows deepeternal dark lusting your marrowand petal posey of labia's lipsstained with coffin's mahoganysweet scent of decadent glaciersmelting in my arms

As a body of rose becomes my ghostof fragrant petals for my loving hostas the attar weeps of wilted thornsgenuflecting to your pure heartFor my blue eyes on trellis adornedof love spawning the crystal dew for a moment in...

In the wind shears of my mind holding on to the quill  with the gall of the screaming louse and the flea.  With the quill of my tongue getting under your  skin, caressing flesh. Naked beneath the leather  collar...