hegel gothic

a fugitive from that clear tear

filled reservoir,

she had not used despite

emotional fractures,

his fracking of her loins

as a way to magic love gases

leaving stains on nocturnal linen,

it was a dimension of time

she did not want to fill,

running through avenue of trees

and answer that once and only calling

leaving vomit on tree roots,

offering to those sprites that

intrigue our fairytale curiosity ,

dark folds and long chimed bell,

within heavy breasted heart

answers writhed as a bed

of worms center of her being

and all that it withstands,

change had many prices

and used only certain currencies

that she had to pay,

was it worth it

nail scrawled words on her back

proved it

 

Sunday whirl

 

regions of desertion

ashfoot, ashfoot

under moonball capsules of starlight

take two tubes of the sea

and with hipster tone,

squeeze upon my subterranean pinnacle

handcuffed to a midnight train

brakeman with burning lantern

punched me to nothing more,

take two more boxes to burn

smoke and steam

play it cool

sinister strapped luggage fell

to which i became lashed

tunnel -bone condemnation

under white haired

fawns feet

voices from regions unknown

lifted me away

to churches with horns

and fed capsules of better things

hopping away the vision

pierced bone

i was no longer

the bum

with sorry leg

dada at dVerse poets an interesting cut up as i used Gregory Corso In the Tunnel Bone of Cambridge which is below
IN THE TUNNEL-BONE OF CAMBRIDGE
1
In spite of voices-
Cambridge and all its regions
Its horned churches with fawns’ feet
Its white-haired young
and ashfoot legions-
I decided to spend the night

But that hipster-tone of my vision agent
Decided to reconcile his sound with the sea leaving me flat
North of the Charles
So now I’m stuck here-—
a subterranean
lashed to a pinnacle

2
I don’t know the better things that people know
All I know is the deserter condemned me to black-
He said: Gregory, here’s two boxes of night one tube of moon
And twenty capsules of starlight, go an’ have a ball-
He left and the creep took all my Gerry Mulligan records with him

3
But he didn’t cut out right then
I saw him hopping
On Brattle street today-
he’s got a bum leg
on his way to the tunnel-bone
He made like he didn’t see me
He was trying to play it cool

4
Wild in the station-bone
Strapped in a luggage vision-bone
made sinister by old lessons of motion
The time-tablebone said: Black

Handcuffed to a minister
Released in a padded diesel
The brakeman punched my back: Destination, black

Out the window I could see my vision agent
hopping along the platform
swinging a burning-lantern-bone like mad
All aboard, he laughed, all aboard
Far into the tunnel-bone I put my ear to the ear
of the minister–and I could hear
the steel say to the steam
and the steam to the roar: a black ahead
A black ahead a black and nothing more.

http://dversepoets.com/

snow white

a morgue at three am

let in by shorty,

not a nice place to visit

let alone work,

by walls of brushed steel doors

vaults of death

hidden human forms,

middle row on the left was one,

modesty sheet

not to keep her warm

he looked on

as this his fifth night,

tugging away the sheet,

touching her breast

tracing cold lividity

that place

a special place

he went as he had done

so before,

finding his release

never of thinking

of how it would of been

had she been alive,

eternal sleep

poisoned once

so caught up this time

passion spent

leaned forward

and kissed her

lips still ruby red

she awoke

not to embrace

not to love

but devour her prince

consume his soul

to her own need

,