

NamesakeThere is no God to save me if I die not due to any lack of faith in Him; I lack a faith in His divine name,Namesake
and by extension, some of my own.
This is not apostasy, merely conjecture as to why the man has left the myth, let it grow past the words and the voice, becoming a titan no pit could hold back, and yet I feel more kinship to Cronus, devourer of his own flesh and blood; walking on water is not the work of humans, but fearing for the future is like breathing.
I would rather be John the Baptist signaling the end of things with a river, doves


Missing You in Two HaikusSleeping on the floor hopelessly in love with you while the hours dragMissing You in Two Haikus
I will be patient writing until the days blur and our paths cross


Writer's Block in Two SenryusWhen I take the pills,Writer's Block in Two Senryus
the poetry dies and is sprawled across the page
the meter rots away a fly filled carcass crows eating the wordplay


La ReconquistaIntense was this strange, nocturnal beat; The volume was an old cathedral tome in the confines of this Andalusian heat which had only been matched by the streets in Bahia donde me han dicho que no existe las cosas friasLa Reconquista
I was there that night for a drink
and a shot in the dark, maybe four. (I have no fear of cops anymore)
Her hips, mourning the nuclear winter just thawed out of fifty years' frost; In her tight red dress, she was boss addressing the situation on the dance floor at the Alhambra, between the moors and the men set to reconquer


EveThey said EveEve
ate a pomegranate.
My fingers bleed
from the places the knife slipped, lost its grip along the tough skin of fruit. I have fought against the fleshy armor, plunging
deep, penetrating nothing.
These seeds are not
mine to know.
How she must have
struggled, ripping and tearing
in lustful fury, chunks of crimson
pulling up under her nails, digging
into the white womb until it split. How the fruit must have
spilled, little living catacombs bursting
forth, rotten at the center, maggots writhing out
Manly Link

Papal PleasuresThe vast occurrences found in Florence Were drenched with sin pouring from sources known During the time of Caesare Borgia The papacy was not unlike the throne; Incestuous behavior ran amok So rank and foul those bloodied robes of shame That babes were born with limbs askew, like roots And Holy Fathers slaughtered men like swain; Puppeteers disguised by Godlike halos They flew on horses wingd with blackest night And laid Christians into soft beds of earth Those sweetest dreams of many martyred knights; Alas, with doctrine pure as midnight snow The worldPapal Pleasures
--
Yeah. I"M BACK.
xo!
--
I am a poetry admin for *DailyLitDeviations.
interested in collaborating?
writer, photographer, painter, whatever(er) -
I'll mix with words with anything you've got.
and hats off for the DOOM id
xo!
shane
--
I am a poetry admin for *DailyLitDeviations.
interested in collaborating?
writer, photographer, painter, whatever(er) -
I'll mix with words with anything you've got.
--
Check out my gallery [link] to see all the rest of my cubees!
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