Sound of Your Face

I think it’s time,

to hear your voice,

It’s not up to me,

it’s not our choice.

 

Longing to hear loudly,

the sound of your face.

Washing waters stray,

singed leather & your lace.

 

When night swallows day,

you’re here with me now.

Somatic aether connection,

don’t ask me why or how.

 

 

Velvety Blind Bay Visions

Your dreaming blind visions are now mine,
you make ink stains disappear with a wish,
pulsating against empty walls of our time,
intermittently dumb and electric like jellyfish.

huge steamboat windows beaten by foamy billows,
your aether eclipses the moon with sulfuric vapors,
rushing crowds of wicked brides come in multitude,
we’re deliriously greedy for cheer feasts and fears.

velvety lips will ravenously kiss lavishly everywhere,
ancient shadows of vague fears plod along darkness,
frantic steps chase each other down the damp alleys,
confused filthy drunkards are all revelries from afarless.

your furtive moans of laughter will fade away the fog,
it darkened outside when your gaze was realized,
you drink in my rain when our eyes are glazed,
naked skins energize the storm in our skys.

thousands of chills awaken the burn inside,
arrogant hands strike the damp caresses,
my infected mind is now of your flesh,
pieces of the evenings torn dresses.

rocked by tremulous midnights and lazy waves,
your scent satiates the SF bay,
while turning tugboats into silk float raves,
pale fragments of opal decay,
in their very own reflection of graves.

the sea will grow shallow as a cup,
our livid dawn will soak it up.



From the siren across the sea:

Sogno.
Cieche visioni.
Macchie d’inchiostro scompaiono, a tratti, sulle pareti, e pulsano a intermittenza,
mute ed elettriche come meduse.
Dalla finestra, enormi battelli sbattuti da
onde schiumose e lune eclissate dentro vapori sulfurei.
Accorrono in folla le spose maledette, ebbre e ingorde,
a rallegrare feste, a banchettare, ovunque a elargire baci famelici con labbra di velluto.

Sagome incerte di antiche paure arrancano nel buio e passi veloci si inseguono nei vicoli midi.
Da lontano, confusi bagordi di lerci ubriaconi, risate furtive e gemiti si perdono nella nebbia.
E fuori, fuori dove? A occhi chiusi bevo la pioggia.
L’energia del temporale sulla pelle nuda, percorsa da mille scosse.
Carezze di mani arroganti risvegliano il bruciore del tuo marchio infetto nella mia carne iva, e i morsi delle sere trascorse.
Intanto la notte, cullata dai futti molli e tremolanti,
annega nella Baia, dove galleggiano profumi di seta e pallidi
frammenti di opale si dissolvono nel proprio riflesso.
Dall’altra parte del mare, un’alba livida si impregna di noi.

*****************************************************************

Dreaming.
Blind visions.
Ink stains disappear, at times, against the walls and pulsate, intermittently,
dumb and electric like jellyfish. From the window,
huge steamboats beaten by foamy billows and moons eclipsed into sulfuric vapors.
Rushing crowds of wicked brides come in multitude, delirious and greedy, to cheer feasts, nd banquet, and lavish ravenous kisses everywhere, with their velvety lips.

Vague shadows of ancient fears plod along in the dark and frantic steps chase each other own the damp alleys. From afar, confused revelries of filthy drunkards, furtive laughter nd moans fade in the fog.
And outside, outside wre? With my eyes closed, I drink the rain.

The energy of the storm all over my naked skin, struck by thousands of chills. Caresses of arrogant hands awaken the burn of your infected mark in my bare flesh, and the bites of passed evenings.

Meanwhile the night, rocked by lazy and tremulous waves, drowns into the Bay, where they float scents of silk, and pale fragments of opal dissolve in their very own reflection.

On the other side of the sea, a livid dawn is soaked with us.

Exquisit Muse Visit

I’ve never had a muse like this before,
it feels quite nice I must admit.
Feeling inspired to write the words,
because there you swimingly sit.

You are flying here soon to see me,
because of this I’m feeling distraught.
I’m ashamed of my life or lack there of,
and what I have and haven’t even got.

I wonder what it is you think of me,
to warrant such an undeserved visit.
I can’t imagine meaning that much,
to someone and being well worth it.

The life I lead is void of one another,
and spent alone 4 days of four.
I’ve never been in this much pain,
except for yesterday and the days before.

When I dream of what you’ll expect,
it conjures up all my darkest fears.
It seems as if I have nothing to offer,
but all night talks with eyes full of tears.

There is no fun kind of sin left,
alone and locked behind the black door.
There once was a time with things,
but that time is no longer more.

It’s been years since I’ve owned a bed,
or wanted one to make and share.
The thought of ever having another,
is way to much to want or dare.

The daily grinding moments of pain,
that exists between the ticks and tocks.
Sometimes I feel as if they’ll stop,
whenever I look directly at the clocks.

I’m really just a dead beat poet,
rejected by all of my peers.
On the surface everyone smiles,
but underneath are only jeers.

I’m the one that everyone,
likes to know from a distant afar.
Don’t get too close they all say,
as they keep their closed minds ajar.

My existence is rather something,
I wouldn’t call it a livable life.
It’s more like a bad joke or add,
selling struggle and constant strife.

Every breath I begrudgingly take,
is full of hopeless and wanton dread.
The countdown has started from here,
when it stops one of me will be dead.

 

12 ‘I Wonders’

I wonder what you think of me,
sometimes when I think of you.
I wonder how you’ll tend to be,
when I do what you ask me to.
I wonder how I’ll want you when,
putting everything in whatever I do.
I wonder how many smiles I’ll get,
when we blend and make them new.

I wonder if this cute fantasy is a little silly,
reality is really much deeper stark.
I wonder what you would really think,
standing next to me in the well lighted dark.
I wonder if everything will ever be perfect or right,
if life had a gear mine would be the red one in Park.
I wonder how long it will take for the bubble to burst,
with the thirst for the night your own fountain landmark.

I wonder if I wrote to in Italian,
would it come back to me ?
l wonder if I climbed up a to a tree top,
how high would I have to be,
before you told me to come back and stop.
I wonder what’s out there in the Aethersphere,
influencing everything we do think and see.
I wonder if the worlds we already know,
will reveal to us what we are intended to be.

 

Dancing in Reprise

I’m here to serenade you with the letters,
I’ve written as you recently requested.
The fuzzy line between you and me,
just went quantum with what you be-quested.

I know it’s that bad and I’ve been there myself,
many times before in another life full of strife.
The end is not the answer we’re searching for now,
until fully experiencing the roller coaster of this life.

I know you were expecting only one for you,
mine must come as quite a pleasant surprise.
It wrote itself to the music as I wrote yours,
two little suicide notes dancing in reprise.

I know you wouldn’t do it because you’re not through yet,
with yourself or me until you let you want too be.
I can’t let you in good conscious do yourself this way,
you even had me write the note that blames your death on me.

Whatever the reason time or place you come to the very end,
it is going to be in the cradle of my arms or not or ever at all.
If you throw yourself or jump off of this very steep cliff,
I’m going to jump after and catch you before the end of our fall.

 

 

Published online by:

Curbside Splendor

The Horror Zine