Archives for category: Poetry


Can you feel her aching?  That is the question

when you rest your head on her beating flesh

thumping, churning, revolving inside itself


No, it is not her heartbeat

this is a deeper pain that throbs

Deeper inside

Dark blood flows here

And there is no organ


No flesh to touch

No light to illuminate

No sound to guide


This is the wave of a distant thunder

rising from the blackened depths

Only she can feel it,

sense it rise, crawl up the vines of a hidden realm;

And there is strikes her, sinks its nails into her spine.

There, do you see it?  Only her eyes will show it.


Can you feel her aching?  In the pits of her eyes

She will show it to you

A slow, lingering madness

Hidden with the grace of poise and posture.

She is skilled;

But she is always asking:


“Do you feel this pain?  My pain

Do you sense it

Do you feel it looming

Can you smell it when I am nearby?


“You think it pleasure

You think I am aroused

You think it is because of you

But it is not


“I was wet from the day I was born

From the day I opened my eyes

and the sun shone on my breasts

This is not you, this is me


“So my question is for you

Here, now.  Can you feel me aching?”



You have a way in, through her eyes

And into yourself.

Touch the void in your own heart

and let it collapse inside you


Touch your own dark self

and look at your grief in the eye.

It will guide you, strike you,

stab you and love you


And then you will see it there.  There!

The same claws sinking in.

You felt this since your birth,

since your mother bore you.


Remind yourself of your mortal flesh and blood

Of waxing and waning

Of eyes, tears, smiles and cum

And here, this, us, naked and alone

We give ourselves to this birthright.


Us we stand, as men

Grief our striking blow

To bring us through the righteous gates.

Grief and remorse:  what binds us, breaks us and makes us strong


Only with these spears will we learn to feel

Give her this gift


Do you feel her aching?

Say “Yes,

Here is my own blood,

Pierced where the blade caught me in life;


“Here is my own soul

So give me yours

Give me what burns, yields, and surrender

Your aching is what makes me strong.”



It is the black

when my instincts grip and my senses crawl

around, inside, and outside

claws grip onto the air

my eyes look to pierce the burning snow

meditating on the sound of the wind

the breeze brings in the songs of fortune

the black

burning fire of no light

reeking of pain charred into ash

from the grains of charcoal dew

arise the beast of no earth, no few

no face

no eyes

no sense

reaches out from the heart of steel

the black


My Lady is Sharp

She clings to the sheets and rips them from the mattress

She grinds into the bed and presses into the springs with her hips

She breaks open and shows me a crack into her body

She opens, and closes, clutches me close with her claws

My lady is sharp

She digs her nails where it’s softest

She grips at air with her breath

She clenches on bone and on marble

She rips the heat and she  casts it

My lady is sharp

Her ripping, her shredding, her anguish

My lady is sharp

Her bites to strengthen her grip

My lady is  sharp

She digs in deeper  to feel it

My lady is sharp




And then softness

Give me those eyes

Those eyes that slay me

At once soft and sweet

Hued with the hum of fire

Pierce me with that flame

And burn me to awaken

Hark, that siren’s call

Mingled in the emptiness

Clutch me in my balls and my spine

Genesis of my brutal love

Slay me, and I will rise

Provoke me, and I will surrender

Ebb and sway

Within the touch of my grasp


Intoxicated with a yearning,

Thunder growing in my throbbing chest

Touch me

Without your hands

A piercing in the dead of those eyes

Slay me with your surrender

Cast me down to die by your gentle gaze

And watch what erupts

Those eyes that slay me

they drive my soul forward

to drive that stake

into both our hearts