“Alive” is just thunder in your bones.
Like you died except there’s some sense that I could blink if I needed to.
This type of delusion makes mustard seem tasty by the bottle.
I’m dead.
For some reason.
When you’re dead for a few weeks?
You don’t feel much.
Or ask much.
“Alive” is a type of gimmick.
While “dead” is a lazy lunch on the patio.
Throwing away your elbow grease.
I’ll never fix the leaky faucet again.
That’s what “dead” does to you.
midwinter saga
ruby rose - frozen beauty
ice cold, crimson corpse
still life beneath the soft snow
breathtaking bleakness blushing
26.08.26
a corpus of data
may be superficial
might be beneficial
~ a corpse if artificial
On the first day of New Year-
This year gave to me,
One corpse lying in my living room.
On the second day of New Year-
This year gave to me,
Two stillborn babies,
One corpse lying in my living room.
On the third day of New Year-
This year gave to me,
Three empty coffins,
Two stillborn babies,
One corpse lying in my living room.
Love is a corpse,
a slab on table and a checklist of finds,
6’ 2’’, rich, educated, white, slim,
a post-mortem on a body still fresh
Love is a casino,
a gamble in bright lights,
a bargaining of chips falling where they may,
an under-table sleight of hand
Love is a firework,
a hallucinogenic bonfire blaze
that spirals and swirls with a forever
waiting, a waiting for the bang, the explosion,
the sizzle from cosmos down to earth
Love is a house
with a cupboard for stale secrets
and a creak in an old spine staircase,
flagging passion hung out to dry above
yellow grass in need of water, can rusted
Love is silence is shout is cry is shake
is laugh is let down is let up
is cloud is volcano is dormant is erupt
is triumph is disaster is trust is tryst
dear life holding though seems dropped
seems well keepsake just head propped
all stages work cards play right
while smile never think laugh fight
lose focus find few new pills
rob future paywall advance
lift feet one front partner dance
kiss wife lovely dead weights corpse
don't go stay home destroy thorps
take arms see sails more increase
tattoo flag wave war kill peace
remain alpha con beta
successes all right data
obsolescence plan delete
extract spoil collect repeat
day day always forever
hallelujah and ever
"Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow. " ~ Shakespeare
As fragments of the stars abandoned
the sage of night, my kohl heart bleeds
beside your trembling tombstone,
while soul aches to seize the
fading scents within
the iris of
auroras,
leaving
dreams
and
I, lost
like the speed
of shooting sparks,
twirling above ghosts
in the cemetery
of wild corpse roses, whistling
moonless requiems to ravens
blind to the truth etched in lithium...
the
three things
that t h r i l l
b e a t d e f e a t e a t
him, him, him
don't
b pse
u or
r y c
his
Who would wait in line to smell
A flower that’s so vile
Its odor reeks like rotting flesh,
Quite hard to reconcile
With all the other lovely plants
The Gardens* have on view?
I’m not sure I would make the trip
To check it out; would you?
This specimen, just one of four
To thrive in the U.S.
Has been here seven years, but never
Bloomed with full success.
Its smell will last for several days,
A putrid, corpse-like scent,
Yet strangely, all who waited
Were quite happy that they went.
*The Brooklyn Botanic Garden
Snowing-- a hiemal, deathly air
Their frigid, frostbitten fingers hold nothing
Uncomfortable silence washes over all there
A petalless, thorny rose someone is clutching
Her corpse, defunct, stiff yet motionless
Skin, once warm brown, now ghastly
Her grinning face, now emotionless
They thought she would die lastly
Life has limits, death endures eternity
From her loss, not a single tear was shed
She, a daughter, never within confraternity
No one ever cared to hear the words she said
So she lay, her arms crossed against her chest
No flowers were dropped upon her frail body
Instead, the thorny rose stabs her breast
Unhuggable cacti she could embody
On her prickly torso, blood streams
No one shall wipe liquid and spikes off
No one shall pay respect, it now seems
They simply do not really care; they scoff
So there she’ll lay, unloved and disrespected
With not blooms and gold, but many a thorn
Only snow showers her, quite expected--
That no one would dare to mourn.
The sky is blue again
Nothing left for me to gain
I was so sure I'd get over
Yet I don't feel sober
I've left all of my hopes
My body is turning into a corpse
I can't see myself in the mirror
Being around people feels like a terror
I look so blue
My brain don't get any clue
I've tried to cross the bridge
My home feels too far to reach
Will I ever reach there?
Or I'll keep fighting with my fears
When will I become brave?
Or I'll take myself to the grave
Someone is trying to look at my state
But I'm already living in a casket
They say human needs something to precise
But happiness never comes without a price
My body is young but I feel so tired
I used to be brave but now I'm scared
I tried my best to erase the gray
I'm pulling myself every single day
My skin is fading
Feels like I'm shading
I've left all of my hopes
I'm turning into a corpse
Amber, orange, red, gold falL
Undergo change from green lifE
Touched by sweet decaying aromA
Undercurrent swirling dance of improV
Marauding chill in the breezE
Nimble corpses, once living thingS
a carcass is moving
out from the white of the eye it is
so all-consuming
dots form in lines on the absentee spine
dry undefined lumps are soft and infusing
the bruises and rind and the opal contusions
they fire with pus and with derelict mucus that
rises in shape as if living and human
adorned in the fumes as mycelium blooms and pours
wings form from mold stocks that spew from the local pores
leeching the fluids the carcass now wizens forth
reaching the sky with a forest of open sores
sink in the bleak rims of deep skin have peaked
they churn sinkage and reak sin that bleeds from the meat
and it turns as it sings and pulls taught and it dreams
knots drink him and blink in with pinkeye beliefs
Bug-free surroundings are most possible,
but not this repulsive, disgusting beast.
The so-called, Corpse Flower, how shockable,
repulsive, disgusting, and to the least
of it said, gives off such a horrid stench,
unbearable, odoriferous--mesh
vibrant acts that the breed needs to entrench
pollinators to the scent of dead flesh.
Twill bloom as the largest inflorescence,
a total flower stems, stalks, bracts, and bloom.
Twill blossom once every seven years. Once
pollination impacts, ensure its doom.
Tis their way to everlasting, The Corpse
Flower blooms heaven in seventh-year warps.
Sooty black and thin boned,
velvet almost, but stringy.
Hard to define
the shape of a hissing cat
that was so soon alive and kicking,
but now lies dead
on my neighbor's lawn.
I would watch it on summer evenings
crouching low
under the hedgerow hunting small birds.
Fortunately for the birds
it most always missed,
then he would hiss loudly,
and walk away,
skinny tail up
as if he didn't give a damn.
Now it's dead,
and by God, I swear I can hear
it hissing still,
and not giving a damn.
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