my heart

 you pretty devils

with smeared makeup

who drink green

envy like irony

an ivy leaf

from within your teacup

and paper dolls

and plastic souls

and pink paste

walls, thats 

quite a getup

im after

hellfire with

queasy laughter

and a lunar eclipse

that shines unto

my black shack

with the  lip smeared

lumber dawn

of uneasy unblinking

 dawn

of an mannequin fire

and the lovely ruffled 

desire

of some noxious night 

with a gemstone hook

the pestillence ridden

divas who smear there 

testament in there

blood,

an antinomian script

unreadable 

in its way 

a Miltonic crime

a nursery

owlet

that ministers 

screeches

and harlots howls

that with jagged knife

spell out deaths grip

but dont think the unloved

needs a lover

or obsesser needs 

a confessor all

the more wicked 

my wings are a cemetery

funerary mishap

hellbound swastikas

in nightshade moon

dresses 

an candelabra szygy 

that echoes other souls

'perfect balance 

and boring symmetry

untill they slip

in the mirror glass halls

of companionship

to be defined by another

unkindly misfortunaste whinse

but i snigger;me

who 

thinks unemotionally

as kitchen sinks

thorat on red hot coal fire

stilts

how gravely his guttural gasp

of mutinous omen

but i know

dear pretty ones

just who you are

what drives your mind

what lost straying echos

you bound upon after

a senseless sleep star

disturbs backroom laughter 

what pertrubed dreams

dwell

deep in the easterly rings

of saturn 

a king (uneasy)

a relentless sad wee snipe

a bigger wreck then qwerty 

on an eastern keyboard

reconfigured easily

a kiss is

it seems a blister

to jehovan imps 

utter

a purple pernickle popped 

auburn red leaves lay

forgotten

in etherous doorways

'on rattling ritalin hinges 

that breath

of stardust

that doesent leave me

a dirty biologic mark

\that unlike a festering rock hard vein sequenced cock

ground sprouted urethra paredoila  

they hate to stare the ugly

the random plethora

metronym  

on holidays right in the eyes

between stone tikis 

guardians

believe me

but love is quick and sometimes deceased 

in my own sight

and sickly green spotted

turbucular nymphs

would spot a grove

right there

begotten

or perhaps 

meat

(on some of its own nights) would feign

 its own  death to relieve me

oh and it does

if god exists

and loves as above

the cellular rhaspsode

sodomist pindaric ode

cavernous crags hide

the monoliths

in mono

metronomes

then below a desirous flesh

my homeric bellows

there the devils recieve me

dirty girls

in dirty furrows 

a colloseum for

the unbelieving

with dirty pumpkin

marrows that squeal

like demonic infants

fantastique ejected

from bespectacled and

clean haired befreckled

minds roam

tough whimsy

but in that coal pit

eggman trotsky

where i follow mad laughter

and i chatter after 

and it chatters back

in ashen runes

to the boganoid gallows

where me and such fellows

are hung out by the rafter

and wee sleepy fellows

whose eye extends karma

drown out in there laughter by 

all the sane fellows

i hate to be sad but

i must acknowledge

that i can be glad

not being bedfellows

with this girl or that

and see what will come after

before omnipresent

shallows are not omnipotent

monotheist prison cells 

cause where the sun shines

is the farthest reign from

the spell that im under

in pantheist antartica

  if god designed me to be

risen like the thunder

and simmer and crack like a raw

hot coal fire that simmers down 

in the rain to the chtonic choir

id say that im chained to the stake

of the town cryer and to not say

that would just make me a liar

and ill be the first one

to admit that my hearts down with the shudders

and complete disrespect for the status quo martyrs

cause i know my heart

and where people are constantly falling apart

as star window tears tangle 

the rudders 

and the continent drifts a bit farther

ill look into the sea

chasms and enzymic 

lil lairs with

little trot prayers 

and see ominous signs

of my uncommon design 

deep down in the gyre

ghastly scales 

burning out

every hope

with voluptuous rapture

and after the flute and the pipes

and kazoo and piano

and after the lyre

the jazz interlude

and then the messiah

theres comes a wee song

not for those of faint timber

that only those who know themselves

seem to go after

and are put down with salt

and stripped on the altar

all because its my fault

that the harper

is crippled

and the ship set off late

cause after the rapture

my heart

is then played