Desired Tragedy

A saccharin longing
for a tragic end.

Upended and trampled
like a reckless desire
for holy reckonings.

Breath, cascading
towards a howling violet.
Cap not your simmering
a muted fire of bashful abandon.

Unleash your glorious vehemence
upon a deserted cause.
Triggers and clicks.
Cross and dagger.
Bone and shriek.

Mindful of muted awe.
A clamoring, oily black
tipped over upon a misplaced youth.

Herald of a quiet age
tapping your shoulder.


At the Bosom of Iniquity


Present to me your whispered half-truths,
your lies, slanderous and sticky,
like honey from a comb,
and I will suckle.

No bosom sweeter,
more rosy blushed,
with commiserated vapidity
than that for which the clamoring throng

Hold fast, you People.
Cast a furtive eye upon
the chainless bounds
and with a measured thumping
your toil shall be yours to nurture.

Dig not your ragged-nail, sun-cracked
hands into that loam,
laid out for you in thick carpeted runs
by gold plated men.
Cease your throaty chewing of that black-copper tang
that cloaks all nascent aspiration.

Stand up, you Man.
Raise your hoary pate above that far horizon
and tip your hat to the trembling Dawn.
Tread forward, far off from that
pallid bosom of iniquity.


Obscured by novelty
Waiting for a faith un-trodden.
Rich and dark
like a storm-cast sea at dawn’s light.
Foam and salt upon trembling lips.

Reek of consequence
and wasted opportunity
as I sit upon a withered hope.
Guided by the dawn of a lost generation.
Keep alive soiled turmoil
cast forth by a writhing seed.

Tenebrous coil, a heart’s guidance.