The eyelids of god are always flipping burgers!

What does this picture mean to you?

Is this a vindication of blood-lust
or a properly celebrated holiday?

Is this man a shadow of his formal self?

Is this a mirror taking a picture of itself?

BRAZEN ARITHMETIC…

this writing on the wall
this syncopated second thought
this out-of-body full disclosure.
I have read between the lines
until I am blind, I have scoured
the text to vilify the sacred,
to make angels the default
button for destruction, but I can’t
break the code of the familiar,
the breath that catches,
the sustained silence, the coiled
look, I can’t find my way
out of here. I’ve written myself
into a corner.

A DAMNED AFFAIR

I will have nothing
to do with you, I expunge
you from the record. You
officially do not exist.
Pleased to meet you.
I see you come with your
own pre-commissioned
laugh track. Congratulations.
You’re one step ahead of me.
But I’ve already strangled
any potential blood donors,
so really, where does that
leave us?