Digestive Tractability

He spat on his food, cutting
Her into strips of tender
Loving meat, so that he alone
Would be eager to suck
All of the flavor out, chew,
And, grinding her into pulp,
Let her become briefly
Acquainted with his inner
Self, a tangled, wet machinery
That is satisfied not by filling
But by continually purging.

She was rare, a well-marbled
Beauty. She had bled sweetly,
Diluting herself as she hissed
Happily in heat. Now just a bone,
She is gnawed on by a dog,
Who will probably choke
On her stabbing splinters.
But He, he will yet gorge
Himself, until his arteries
Stop up, and his heart
Will cease its beatings.

Carrier

i wanted to open the dove
and let my hands fly out
to make a butterfly-shadow,
so that if i was caught in a lie,
there would only remain ends
of radius and ulna,
and even if i pressed
them to paper
and scrawled a cover story,
you couldn't read the indentations
from where you're standing.

instead, the bird perched
on my lips was a pigeon.

Plight of the Angel

My wings are awesome,
I can totally fly.
How in the hell am I an angel?

I smell like daffodils dunked
In slime.
My halo itches

But I can't touch it,
Or it will cut off
All of my fingers.

Funeral Rights

You're free to lie down in fire,
We'll even provide the pyre.
Or if you'd prefer something more corporeal,
Don't worry, we'll prepare a stunning memorial.
But if you were religious in life,
The preacher-man is an extra price.
Just sign on the dotted line, x marks the spot,
The headstones await you on the burial plot.
If you'd like to line your casket,
We have plenty of items in our baskets.
Have some pine-scented air fresheners,
They might help with post-mortem depression
Resulting from the miasma of your corpse,
Which will worsen the more it warps.

Danger Music

In order to play this piece, first
The composer is to decompose,
On sight, in the middle of the stage.
Then the conductor will be strapped
With a leather belt
To a lightning rod.
This rod will be placed in between
Two active Tesla coils,
Performing the looping melody:
F-A-C-E
C-A-G-E.
Each musician around this display
Seated with his instrument
In crescent after crescent,
Crescendo after crescendo
Will swallow and play it from the inside.
The bars will bend, starving notes
Will jump from paper to feed on the players.
Fortissimo ad infinitum

Con Artist / Skulduggery

While it may seem logical
To put a hole in your head
So that the struggling sculptor
Inside will stop chiseling
Bone fragments from your skull,
Eventually intending to break
Through just the same, logic
Is only a program written
To deal with the mistakes
Of the past, in the present.
There's a trick:

Conceit.
Conceal yourself,
Concentrate.
Conceive a cutthroat,
Control his every move.
Conquer the creator.
Concatenate every
Concept,
Conflate them all.
Condense yourself.
Condemn yourself.
Contradict yourself.
Conform
Contumaciously,
Confuse.
Conclude.
Congratulations.

Sweet Jesus

Chow down on some
Confessional confectioneries,
Lavish lectern layer cake,
Marshmallow pope
On a liquorice rope,
Easter eggs in the organ loft,
Hot Cross buns on the altar
Chandeliers dripping donut glaze,
Fudge pews lined with caramel
Bibles and strawberry hymnals,
Chocolate coins in the tithing tray.

Salvation never tasted so sweet,
Submission was never so cloying.
Going to church is such a treat,
Praise be, there's always something to eat!
If there weren't, that would be annoying.

Idleization

We kissed each other's tentacles
And pleasured each other's genitals
Until our bodies seethed and spasmed
Our throats spewing ectoplasm
As we called forth the dark specters
Of id, and more perverse sectors
Generally reserved for spiders
Where inside ourselves we're outsiders
But now we populate wastelands
With ghosts we build with our hands