poetry of the Dark, Erotic, Violent, Sacreligious & Macabre

Posts tagged “Magazines

A.M. Coffee

 

 

Satan in my coffee

on a Tuesday morning

riding shotgun

to work with Bob

and his cat-Black,

in a white Chevy truck

black coffee

I need cream

to make it brown

and sugar,

lot’s of sugar

to kill the strength

to calm the storm

brewing earlier in my

roach infested coffee pot

‘they lay eggs, you know’

Bob says to me

the cat hisses

it despises roaches like dogs

particularly the one

crawling out from my thermos

 

 


~^.^~Black Cat~^.^~

 

 

Cat.

Black Cat.

Crossing the street, Cat.

 

Cat.

Black Cat hisses!

Tires screech.

Rubber burns.

Smoke clears.

I didn’t miss him by an inch.

 

Cat.

Black Cat.

Not just another

Dead in the street, Cat.

 

Cat.

Black Cat.

You should have never broken my heart, Cat.

 

 


Black Dandelions

 

 

Dandelion 2Dandelions,

                                                                           though you thought me beautifully evasive,

 

Dandelions

smother and choke

their counterparts;

 

Dandelions

know no boundaries

they only know they exist as I exist;

 

You hand her Dandelions

tied in your mother’s favorite silk ribbon;

 

I wilt

at the sight of your black blasphemy

because you loved me once

 

Who would’ve thought your blackheart charm

would soil seeds after you bled them

then buried them, dry?

 

 


Trainwreck

 

Black tie-dye canaries stall the
hands of time cradling infants
still umbilicalled in the
hanging garden’s euphemism
Cataclysms and Catholism
may be the answer to a self-imposed
self-apocalyptic junk-alcoholic veering
down the tracks @ a 125 miles per hour
but I can’t see the moon trying to eclipse
the sky for it is fucked as I am fucked
LA must be a logical place harboring
my body as an epileptic earthquake
the Richter scale reads: 10+10+10, and
I wished my superficial girlfriend would stop
reading me bedtime stories gauged with
animalstic fairy tales of skid row; I feel
barbaric and I want to conquer Germania
just to fuck with the demon dogs in her head
but she constricts and I have flash backs of
birth of contractions of gestation of copulation,
and I can see my mother poetically broken by what took
an eternity to create merely took seconds to destroy-
and the roses smell pretty, still