The chosen
tone deaf
to their fortune
Musicians
their heads
in the sand
The roadies
eat pizza
still frozen
While Angels
play bass
in the band
Indulgence
the pick
on their fretboard
Entranced
by the lure
of the bong
Benighted
the riffs
play without them
Not going
or coming
— just gone
(The New Room: March, 2024)
Aw sweet Angel, it's you that I seek
all alone jotting up winds so bleak,
for so many hearts I have perversed.
You; another to wield my meanly little curse.
I am the Queen of manifest clay,
Craft my horns despite the pill's delay,
Sleep child, the veil's open on a pagan's feast
such beauty on your heart fully creased.
We'll fly with crows and ravens! Then Daemons
without reasons; a joyless flight throughout the seasons.
A journey, a dream thought to be Babel
another crimson palm succumbs to this fable...
Acheron, Marionette of Seethe
Why have this Daemon gnaw in me?
"Help... is... agony..."
Her crippled hand
tightens this noose
songs whispered from serpent truths
another mind went bland...
By the power of death, I condemn you to nothingness
He who lives peacefully in his sumptuous demesne
Shall fall down and feel the agony and pain
For I see benighted human as I see the great eye
Beguile the unreality within his domain
She dissembles her soul, he obscures his remains
The unreal dalliance, umbrella and no rain
An evanescent imaginary, an ephemeral non-existence
Beautiful words, no searing pain
Falling like a rain, dropped from the clouds
Singing like Sinatra, silently but loud
No pyramids, no cane, no calling, no train
He’s like his father, she is really proud
Buried in the clock, all four the same
One, one and one, and again another one
Those probably make 11:11, whatever it is
I’m on my plane
By the power of nothingness, I condemn you to death
It is dark
Where the dragon roars
Opening doors that silhouette the fear
Pupils hung low in insufferable dreariness
For sleeplessness overcomes my being
Wrapped ever so tight in my blankets
With the winds in my mind whistling, strange
Only to watch the rearranged light of the moon
Full in its glamour
The moods it does prompt
Unknown to myself
Leaking from my wound
The pain that does exude
Prompted by you
Wicked in lure
Your thoughts so impure
To have you beckon my restless wonder
To hard to close my eyes
And go under
And suspend in a peaceful slumber
When my heart lies so troubling
And my vision is nearly doubling
Close your doors
And leave
For I chose not to receive
Your pardon