new work of fiction

A Pentacle for Blue Boy

new book - Shooting the Piano Player

Shooting the Piano Player

fifty black birds

Fifty Blackbirds

I saw it crack open
And out flew fifty blackbirds
They fluttered about and cawed
Threatened looks for the others
I counted each one
And gave each a name
It is my way, claiming power
Over nature and nurture
And all things in between
They asked me if I’ve seen any cats
Knew of my conversations
With a mean spirited tabby
Who was hell bent on destruction
And finding the new life
Beyond the pale moonlight

empty

Empty

I am empty,
fill me with yourself,
into my hollow squeeze,
that which is you.
See through my eyes,
something never before,
new horizons unfold,
for you a new day.
Feel my bones,
they rattle for you,
deep down inside,
witch doctor’s surprise.
Drink the snake venom,
live the vision,
strip away the mortal coil,
free from civilization.
Run naked through the garden,
return to a former state,
before sin entered your heart,
when you were a god.
The sting of death,
was not upon you,
no blemish or spot,
a perfect sacrifice.
Cast aside your illusions,
purchase the fresher stuff,
it’s your money that makes,
you what you are.
People don’t like you,
because you are cute or funny,
it’s your money they like,
trickle down my leg.
You tuck your revenge,
up under your eyelids,
it is safer than your bra,
just the other day.
Lost fifty dollars,
spent it on a doll,
It was one of those,
inflatable kind.
Pure plastic,
hormonal melodrama,
only found on your television,
a reality infused sleepover.
Melt your plastic on the altar,
type in your secret code,
it connects your to the economy,
feel alive and human.
You see we are not real,
if we don’t spend,
coming up soon,
new and improved.

down

Down

Down to the ground,
ask for fifty cents,
pretty, pretty maids,
they found your gun.
Shady looking loser,
as clear as the sun,
caught in a landslide,
no escape from me.
On a downtown street,
got it some more,
get out of the way,
broken down angel.
Bring it down,
back to the beginning,
shadows did fall,
all around us.
My punk rock date,
she’s a little gothic,
with fork and spoon,
ready with the needle.
Round she spins,
in her chair,
nothing’s ever wrong,
shush don’t speak.
Just you shut your mouth,
put it in the middle,
piercing the skin,
a little trickle.
I mean tickle,
one wonderful ride,
beyond your illusions,
past your foolish pride.
You are my last cry,
more than I can take,
hollowed out motives,
running through my head.
My arms extended,
chest puffed out,
see beyond my blindness,
hear only a shout.
Into a fine dust,
you are beaten down,
cornmeal of desire,
flavored with a little salt.

Dashboard Jesus

Dashboard Jesus

Your dashboard Jesus swims in contempt,
flexing forward with a revealing smile,
with that sick look of obsession.
He lifts his finger and points,
at the twenty-one gun salute,
a gift for the ballerina.
She has loved him since she was a little girl,
back in grammar school when she found him naked,
sitting on a park bench reading the Sunday paper.
Her looks at her with swollen eyes,
and a tongue that darts and slithers,
he runs it along the instate line.
He shows her his scars,
the spear, hammer, and nails,
exhibits for the traveling show.
Nightly there are miracles,
better than the primetime lineup,
more effective than lobotomy.
He thinks about his checkered past,
his time in Hell and the cold grave,
the nightlife surrendered for respectability.
He reminds her that he died for her,
to free her from her endorphins,
his gift is freedom from your addictions.

The Book I Left in the Whore House

The Book I Left in the Whore House

We are not futile
We are strong
I see you among the mob
Dirty winds tearing furious clouds
Pulsating with life
All its own
A human organism
I go to you for theater
Replacing your dreams with screaming sirens
Your intriguing combinations
Words that change the world
Corrupting the moral order
I don’t need you
For the pain any more
I just need you
Too scared to queue up
A tug of war
Between beauty and horror
Serving tea and oranges
Hearing the boats go by
She told you everything
The secrets in my head
You were just a number
A doorstop for the dead
We fought
Until the night grew cold
And we unpacked our belongs
Those we hadn’t sold
I have tried to be free
To fly from this cage
That enslaves me
To the rational
We sing
In a midnight choir
The butcher’s daughter
Plays the piano
You talk so brave
Your feet so sweet
As you dance on the stage
The world your partner
You were famous then
A bright and shining star
I couldn’t touch your fire
Without getting burnt

Looking at five weeks away

Looking at five weeks away

We look for signs
Any sign
As we watch the surface
To recognize
Like the churning sea
Would you have been more aware?

Remember the confusion?
It was an essential ingredient
You are still coming to grips with the idea

More Oedipus than king
This is no accident
Trying to find his way
And rightly so
The sorting went on within
Through squandered flesh
This private ocean

A wholly modern concept
Both of them looking the same
Flowing through my veins
Conveyance of the essence
Unsure which is which
Following the tides

The reptilian brain
Racing through the bloody
It shoots outward
Life among ugliness
Sky’s blended tapestry
The mix of affection

Discovered by fame and fortune
I staring in wonderment
Must squeeze through
It is so much easier to make evil
Dull as they are
Their feet of clay
I am still in awe

Showing all the intricacies
Thrill of the barbarous
Always poised to resist
With crisp cold air biting
To stand against the crime

Forming a little clump
We cross together
The small
Against the great
Our strength is in unity
Solid like steel

My openings and closings
The carefully drawn circle
We become solid
Experience and instinct were all
The breeze chilling the bones
Like stones