Symbiosis

morning came

a turbid blue

Afreya awoke

stretching into her morning

wash away the sleep

soft gown falls

naked supple

moves into the garden

emerging from the still

green shrubbery

the ungrich

beaked and blind

with anal spewed eggs

that Afreya would sing to

her voice, her touch

broke soft shell

baby ungrich

fragile wet flesh

scooped and offered

Afreya took each one

devouring them

soft bony morsel

tissue swallowed

belly and breasts

began to swell

eager baby grew

her body tremors

with each and every

bite

enjoying what mother ate

Afreya smiled

her own offspring

would come

to nurture on her red milk

the world would

become theirs

as Afreya collapsed

withering to a husk

she had done

what her birth had intended

repeat the process

and die again

in that way

https://dangerousminds.net/comments/sex_satan_and_surrealism_the_unsettling_erotica_of_michael_hutter

Not my usual kind of work, but felt compelled looking at Michael Hutters paintings, that have defining and disturbing depth of beauty

Demise of a Fly

my balls killed a fly

it’s wings shower damp

lost momentum and flight

testicular seismic shift

wrecking ball swing

smacked to the floor

whereupon in a swirl

of foam and grime

was lost to the plug hole

unmourned

Juke Date 74

there is a dirt road thunder

away from city limits

dust and grits

and over burnt coffee

crows feet eyes

and indistinct touch

nothing cellphone can resolve

jukebox clicks to vinyl

see her in the kitchen

with a smile

I will eat her pie

@ciculodepoesia

Garous Abodolmalekian

Lean against the letting go by Christopher Lawrence

like pressed garlic creamy crushed husk blown away, i held her forgetting the argument, forgiveness and playing with that blonde hair thinking of …

Lean against the letting go by Christopher Lawrence

Matchbook Cuckoo by Chris Lawrence

from the restaurant to the motel room, the kisses, the murmurs naked on sagged mattress struggle and convene inhale, exhale, is their meaning or is …

Matchbook Cuckoo by Chris Lawrence

Paradise is Not an Orchid

My first poetry book publication on Kosovo, translated by Jeton Kelmendi himself a very talented poet and author.

IWA Bogdani

Glory Garden

idleness of circumstance

Eve had gone

sinew as forest twine

flesh spit drowned flattened

meek without doctrine

clinging to

the something of the sun

solar passage

lunar dip

death had a taste

but not a flavour for now

he would seek

Eve

no soiled mattress

or overgrown brothel

he thought

he was his own keeper

Eve his zoo

garden foliage gleam

waiting

a worm feeling frost

not the sun

she would come

patient to those demands

but he is the compliant

not she

she is the earth

the very nature of the garden

each blossom

each fragrance

a hint of paradise

Glory Garden by Chris Lawrence

Now an #NFT on Sing the app for iPad

Fields Ploughed

I look at my penis

skin collar

lychee tip

then piss

a long straw stream

you are not a memory

you are a gift

finger folds

and soften furze

we know we belong

but until when

the scythe decides

Chris Lawrence

Whistle Me Away

when apes discover genocide

I wonder how long I will linger

on the verdant green and blue

insulated by my own sickness

that brackish bile

of human contempt

apes will sing not our mythology

but one of burnt forests

and dried out lakes

human carcasses so vile

carrion crows refuse

to dine without the thought

of consequence

and I will lie down

human leaf litter

becoming fertiliser of the new

season a generation

or era where the truth of nature

will win

Chris Lawrence