Para's Horror World

In a whisper, there lies a great quantity of want, of release
Down on bended knees, a shiver of subtle suitability
To please
Hides behind the whisper, lost amongst familiar ancient decrees
Spoken from the mouths of storms to the bark of trees…
I won’t freeze within the whisper torn free, I won’t
Let you lie post-mortem with me…

Driven alive I worshipped the things we’ve done,
Holding you in life in a long embrace as you run,
Given to us and me a thousand deaths in life,
Endured, you and me, a thousand lives denying love,

Alone in the cool end-of-fall swagger
Rooted in my silence,
For no one hears my lonesome sway…

I wait for a hungry hatchet or dagger
To wage senseless violence
But, once again, none have come today…

How long can I remain in this dying stance-
Day after day in wait-
Feeling decay move from root to limb?

Oh how my branches yearn to dance,
A youthful bending gait…
Oh how I yearn to grow… to be young again…

©Jen2012 3-28

Word vile essence spread across town
Flashing repugnant frowns
And bloody fists
In the faces of repugnance for pleasure
All hailed to the vile essence
Measure bestowed upon the
Repugnance
In the silence
Of the repugnance…

Yeah
Something like that…

Word vile essence fucked you
And some of us licked
The remains
But most refrained from the salt in the eye
Left behind
By the fence… the word vile
Essence
Caught on the barb of defense-
A brilliant splaying of worms
From the arms reaching out
To the words
Learning all they can
All they must

So much we are alike
In the motion of emotion, sand traps,
And exterior violation
Yet so different
In the moments shared and exterminated
Into past
Annihilation and I see the views
Skewed and twisted,
An abomination wished into being.

Could I be seeing for the first time
Congratulations
For mirror image projections
Caught on thorns
Grown for the protection of the viruses
Themselves?

There aren’t many reasons for being.
There are no correlations
Between human waste and sacrifice
Fleeing on the backs of
Honey bees
Seeking
Corruption and mild distaste, only

The world of eviscerated blueprints
Marked the postmortem beginning
Of the primordial sun.

Eyes peeled back layer upon layer
Of its dying warmth
Searching for some searing pattern
To melt into, absorb, glean
From it
Essential breath, heat, and movement.

It cooled in its death
Moment by fading moment.

She wrapped her arms around ash
And wept with regret to extinguish the core
Of its final ember; tears sunk deep
In searching.

The tiny ember felt the first tear,
Combusted into shards of a million stars
With the force of a billion ravens’ wings

ERUPTION

This volcano lies dormant in its pleasure
Sultry and sufficient
Counting measure by measure
Sentient
In leather and lace… I caress your face
With words-
Cautious
And invasive… enveloping
And persuasive…

You smile
Light in your eyes
A sign in all this darkness
Its time
Experience all the pleasures
That are to be offered
Grabbing your hand I pull you towards the bed

I cannot resist
These moments in my head, a coffer
Of fire, blazing- permitting-
Sunken by lust
Hot lava emitting from futures spread widely
Lost
Inviting

Such aches as viral as the season’s unleashing
These sacrilegious moments
Heeding the most primal desires…
I’ll wait for you
On future spirals…

When your time becomes my time
And our time
Sucks the life out of the vacuum
I’ll be here, inflamed and consumed
Like a paper puppet
Soaring down-stream, drenched and moved.

I wait and waste away
A proverbial grape
Scraping legs, knee to shin, a viral win
As far as I’m concerned.
I’ve learned far too much
About feminine sin…

The fight for this freedom
Spikes dormant anger into lovely sparks

Reconsidering the space I occupy
Doubting ingrained abilities
Unlike the newspaper boy
Flinging papers with acute accuracy; I
Could write an account of his daily endeavors,
His character and his angst, but never
His spirit.

He keeps it hidden
And I hate to pry.

Boundaries keep me at arm’s length,
Shame keeps my eyes closed
To his horrors; when I look, I cannot
Kill him. And that’s a shame.

I’ll only buy a newspaper to read
My own obituary,
With all it’s unglorified journalism of names,
Dates- just the facts, ma’am-

The chittering of coincidence has resumed.
For the love of words,
I can only wonder how this has happened.
Refusal to see and hear
And draw the lines dot-to-dot
Is an option, but
The sinister grin lying under the exterior plane
Is the master of refusal; a face
Made of stone, immortal.

The passage of minutes courses-
A thick pulsing gore of moments
Lost to the memory of those partaking.
So many moments (I’d like to say) I wish
Belonged to another but
Those words would get caught on my tongue
If ever I attempted to try.

Coincidences breathe heavily,