Midnight farm

 Their card game performed with straw
Dealing several cards onto my palm
Then a sprig of wheat settles there
In the palm of my hand parallel to the sun line
Making love on my hand flesh to the fate line

They deal the cards out
Strangely expecting me to accept every one
These hands collect but radiate the heat of venus
Deny the night it's cool
Deny the cards their open intrepretations

They have me seated here with them
Yet these hands of mine make me alien
In their presence, in their lantern light
They are distributing the cards
As I handle the midnight farm

Each strand has it's version

 We stood by the stream
Certain areas of the banks featured piled up rubbish
The water was clean enough
I had to see through her
Through the river
Through the woman

It was clogged with an aquatic plant
Exactly like long hair anchored on the riverbed
experiencing the flow of the river
Its varying tones of made it seem like-
Every strand was unique
Each one living it's own version

Ocean Cryptid

 I swim with this long tail trailing but also propelling
Boosting me through the water
So many teeth
I live under the rock of the busy coral reef

I lunge out to eat sharks
The water dirtied from the meal
Appetite so overwhelming
Jaws must close on flesh

Darkness falls
And i'm on the seafloor
Sinister lonely
An ancient ghoul

Hovering then settling
bathing in the darkness

Second half

 When you miss someone
deep in reflection
Mind refuge
The rope is cut

Threads untangle
Everything is severed
And yet the longing strengthens
Binds itself to memory

Conclusions rise up
Convince us to listen
heal those unsaid wounds
become a part of me, my second half

Steam off the spirit

 Steam off the spirit as it fries
Pouring off this pressure that vibrates
In this heat that intensifies
Unwilling to fade unwilling to dehydrate

Into solid mass
reversing from the gas
Overexcitement in equators and poles
Between frozen and boiling pools

The energy develops enters and exits.
Moving outward to feel for hands of destiny.
Are they there? do fingers fit?
Where is that blessed energy

Full sabotage

 Full Sabotage Ha Ha!

Grace in her, I try not to look twice.
The neck is subterfuge.
The heart wakes the stomach.
Full sabotage.

My head turns, and I survey her surface,
wondering what she is on the inside.
Twelve hungers spark through the center of me.
I am unknown to myself,
except for those damned hungers.

Eye contact rocks the heart.
I pray my voice box can utter
"Good morning"
in tune.

She has declared herself
upon the sandy emptiness of my city.
I forbid myself to worship her,
but a piece of me
is infected by her skin
and her gestures,
her complete and utter lack of awareness.

Will she breach dream before light?
Does she harbor emotion
within the sensual form
I see before me?

In Roller door reds

 The Red graffiti hangs off the aluminium roller door.
It is a skeleton of truth
In the a language created by lost junkies
Devoid of identity

The signs of branch veins
Waiting for a jagged world
A thousand impossible truths
the mind won't digest

The long walk home through empty streets
Eyes magnetic to red graffiti
The speed of blood
abominable script proscribed

drip stain blood
society vampire
devoid of identity
hanging bats hidden in the abandoned garage

Homeless vagabonds fall against the rollerdoor after dusk
It flips up like a tongue retorting but moves inward
swallowing the vagrant into the void
Where his blood will sustain another night of painting