Smoking In Orgasms

(or "Season of the Machete")


Conflagration:


a crawling storm
is a dawning form
on the path-gone-mad
from nature's wrath,

where I puncture with rain
the battered cairns
of a wayward place.

& I taste the smoke
of a moaning moon,
peaked & seeking
a shrieking pale
by the flailing abyss
of a banshee lust.


(This ignites my stones
 with a night-trail
 diligence
 nicking lines.)


An inferno wakes
from an unplumbed space.

I hedge the henge
on this hymnal release
through machete seasons'
thorn & grief.

This blackens my blood
to cream your shade
from a slithering will
in the evergreen.

It's a listless lull
on the pendulum pull
that's scraping the mask
off our bones' repose.

& there's a sky of teeth
reflecting the blade,
so I plead to the gleam
for the rain of an age
with eyes aglow
on glistening rites.

we come the clouds
from a sweating shroud
as shadows dawn
with obsidian jets
to bloody peace.

You lyrically singe
on keen repeat
while roiling in the black
of a wayward dream.

Upon battered cairns
our restless places
flicker in dark
to sing release.

I crawl a smile
across the smoking sky.

Through machete
seasons,



form & seek.










I come black.