Girl 8 Suicides

Mozart
would’ve loved
an angel
dressed as a girl
crying
gasoline tears
that
fell

Pitter

Patter
Pitter

Patter

From her
divine eyes

creating
mud puddles
at
Her
duck web feet

where
Into
the puddles
ignitable
pools
of gasoline tears

A blazing
angels feather
Floated

Extinguishing

Gods child
With
Lucifer’s

Kiss

©bg 2010

Through the door frame

In a time long before I could say cheese
The craggy old tree swayed in a breeze

Her twigs cradling safely a baby goon
While she sung a lullaby softly out of tune

To enlighten
a very tone deaf sleeping sprog

As to Why
“the old lady had swallowed a frog”

©bg 2010

Clown Moves On

Ketchup

splattered on

carpet

Dear John letters

soaked in

salt tears

A Cadaver

with a

happy meal grin

©bg 2010

A Return Journey

there
is always
a return journey
to find a souls reason
a
masked voyage
Not lightly undertaken
to the acolytes primeval garden

i
lived on
the Viles bank
at its deformed toothless mouth
in
the City
of the Kingdom
deep in the icy south

allow
a novice
to intrepid traveling
i would seek redemption alone
following
the river 
north to the
Roads mapped by the unbeknown

i
set out
from the City
that had exhausted my existence
to
find the
Fabled primeval garden
Hidden in the fabricated distance

leaving
via the
slum overcrowded quarters
forgotten wrought pearl City gates
i
did encounter
a pious boy
begging relentlessly gospel updates
he
sat on
top of a
lightning thrice struck sign post
that
points you
away from the
protection of the Cities host

he
asked me
politely if I
found what i searched for

my
eyes returned
to the carnivorous
City i’d grown to abhor

There
i’d lodged
many ridiculous years
courting the Cities high acclaim
while
dreaming drunk
in a swaggering strungout hammock
For
My fortune
and deluded fame
Cocooned within the prophets washedout
colorful
Canvass sails
Made by street
Artists who captured life escapes

Instead
my stupor
Had entangled me
in the goddess’ temples fire
blue
Vision erotic
dancing silk drapes

Wicks to my candle heart

I
woke with
burning fever to
Find where the divine once
dwelled
was now
overrun with money
lenders and Merchants trying to
flog
of their
smog soaked blanket
currency to the throne pretender

i
sorrowfully shook
my crowned head
throwing the boy my last
coin
of a
fool’s gold that
contained false promises full of
poisonous
alms for
nourishment’s untold by
The crone’s that once camped
On
The rocks
they used to
build the Kingdoms crumbling City

he
caught the
coin and then
tossed it into the Vile
looking
at me
Aghast with pity
He’d gift to a leper

he
said “no
good sir i
beg for happiness
not gold to braid my
hanging
rope” now
i knew
why he looked
so emaciated holding his rusty
tin
bowl barren
of loose hope
That rattles with unseen pain

i
followed a
path that swung
left into the shrouded mountains
which
in my
youth had been
guarded by the demented monks
of
conformity who
believed that all
creatures had been recreated so
all
had to
pay a toll
to pass through
the flaming dragon wing gates
To
tread the
righteous road by
being dunked head first into
their
well of
blood just-ice water
to reload upon their spine
an
ingrowing hair
of camel from
each beings past spent lives
to
carry the
ingrown poison of
their progenitors into their new
Pure
sweet opium
golden hives abuzz
with bugbear stinging grievances

this
day the
way point seemed
deserted of the impregnators of
hates
as i
walked through the
pillars unheeded by the once
guarded
Dragon wing
gates that now
lay on the ground extinguished

a
naked woman
to my surprise
with a swollen belly hooping
three
golden rings
danced stirringly erotically
towards me exhorting me to
obediently
follow my
Beating heart within
Her womb of rising thought

i
took her
ribbon and she
led me up a ladder
to
where the
air did not
freely stir a beings will
Atop 
the iced
wall monastery where
the monks had generously dwelled
inside
excreting sin
From the fruit
fermenting in their ink Wells

there
outside of
the walls she
wailed to me the song
regarding
the deceiver
who dwelled within

song given she lay motionless

like
a raped
snow angel image
just left carved
by the purple incubus’ weighty
sickle

i took
the songs muse
placing it within a hod
then
i hid the
parasite in a blacksmiths forge
just
after Passingover
Red Rover town that i
crossed
Via a
bridge made of
Sacrificed stone encrusted with frost
to
gain the
other side of
the muddy towns main artery
Known
By the
Inhabitants as the
Undrinkable non cleansing River Vile

A
Mile later
Into the day
i encountered a scarred and
Battered
tin skeleton
digging with his
saber in a salted field.

looking
he said
for his lost
Canvas skin to be revealed.

further
on down
the stained buckled
cobbled together redemption potted road
in
a field
of corn been
harvested before the rain fell
i
came across
a scarecrow made
from a soldiers cadaver pouch
pulling
out the
corn by years
searching for he did say
his
inner skeleton
Made of recycled tin soldiers

i
pointed to
the silhouette digging
in the neighboring salted field
the
scarecrow just
laughed till his
guano congealed tears fell loose
he
picked up
a dead crow
casting it at his neighbor
who
on been
struck dropped his
soiled blunted rust infected saber
then
he fell
forward casting his
Naked shadow across his foe
As
a whip
Lashing scarecrows weathered
back with the gods Greek fire.
the
scarecrow cried
out in frigid
pain through his stoic mask.
Till
Time forced
His weathered hands
back to his fruitless task

i
collected my
knapsack bent back
then whistling tunelessly ahead
so
my feet
would obediently follow
i wondered humorously alone again
down
through a
barren haunted hollow
shadowed by lone rain dogs
that
wander searching
the wilderness aimlessly
for their lost wolf’s scent
that
over generations
has become infertile
Leaving them lost without MANA

I
Walked on
until the road
again ran along the vile
Here
I stopped
At an outpost
of civilisation for needed rest

here
i entered
A rustic tavern

Flapping sign said Opera Mill

Deep
inside a
Fire did blaze
alive with a sorcerer’s song
trapped
in the
Mills hearth cage
his fingers scrawling black hieroglyphs
notes
from a
composed archaic age
onto the scorched planets orbiting
the
Luna howling
phantom singing sage
who reached out through
the
hearths steel
grates trying to
lull me into his nocturnal
underworld
vast estates

Hypnotised within the
fires fever I Became consumed
Within
a game
Searching for the
music’s eternal glass flute flame

i
was carried
from the millers
opera house by the organs
Defiant
Breath of
soul music as
it did flee the sages
crackling
fingers that
reached out of
the house from its angry
inflamed
heart to
envelop the exoskeleton
crushing the imprisoning walls holding
His
Wraith Puppet
Of revenge birthed
To terrorise the Kingdoms land

above
Mad moons
circled like vultures
stretching and tearing red giblets
from
the wraith
as if it
were a corpse
on which gravity’s
darker side could feast upon

scrambling
to my
feet i followed
the fleeing ashen beating music
my
Back knapsack
weighing burdens
as i tried to out
distance
the sound
of a morphism
Form been ritually torn apart

after
many strides
taken i found
myself standing on the Brink

below
a sea
of sick green
drank the river Vile’s water
that
Vomited from
The land into
the green seas churning maw

from
behind a
question as if
answered floated down the vile
annoying
my ears
like a mocking birds caw
i
turned in
anger to see
a bobbing v-bowed raft with
a
sign post
for a mast
heading towards the water fall
its
Grinning captain
the pious boy
from the Kingdoms city gates
begging
Weather updates
While looking foolishly
directly into the storm’s eye
i
ran leaping
from the Brink
To land on the raft
as
the boy
hoisted the sail
made from street artist canvas
colorfully
created on
the sewer paved
streets where dreams  do prevail

i
filled that
sail out like
A strong gale force wind
causing
the raft
to shoot over
the river vile’s vomiting fall
into
the distant
settling pale brine
That reflected the clouds above

when
i’d finally
untangled myself from
the canvass sail and rigging
The
Waifs ark
was all mine
The pious lost at sea

i
knelt naked
before the mast
the waves flaying my back
eroding
the Kingdoms
Waste and Clay gift away
i
wiped the
salty brine from
my beard covered chapped lips
with
the hairy
Back of an
Omnipresent Offending hand of MIME

the
canvas hung
limp like an
empty wine skin
savior from the main mast
to
whom i
spoke blasphemous blessings
of gibberish fasting prayers in
the
High hope
the canvas might
keep the dragons at bay
that
Had risen
From the drowned
primeval gardens arks sunken graveyard
To
Swim through
the restless sea
As dark clouds hunting prey

i
crossed the
flooded primeval garden
where bleeding mountains lay drowning
in
eon’s of
Waste sent from
the eternal Kingdoms city sewer
till
growing out
of the straining
Rising light in the distance
a
dark smudge
became a Castaways
civilized cyst of puss weeping
rugged
walls of
the City i
had shed like a skin

the
mouth of
the river Vile
welcomed me with its wide
toothless
salivating mouth
as its prodigal
morsel returned empty to the
carnivorous
Kingdoms City
From which innocence
Consumes itself within temptations cocoon

further
On up
the river Vile
the raft came to rest
on
the Brinks
lower south bank
like a pilgrim i stepped
ashore
to feel
sins vibrations chattering
my bones with junkie delirium

wrapped
in my
canvas sail skin
i walked my path carrying
on
my shoulder
the lightning thrice
struck sign post I was fated
to
return to
the right side
of the misleading
cobbled road that led to
the
Kingdoms City
And to the
unbeknownst mapped north cobbled roads

my
Boney arms
stretched indifferently in
both directions that led nowhere
The
post became
my body’s spine
erected to scare away the
pious
boy who
would pass by
heading towards the
Kingdoms slum city pearly gates
Open
For business
to all infections

© bg 2012

Winters Child

Part one

Walking onto the stage
I found a seat
On an upturned beer crate
I smoke a pipe
While Waiting
For who knows what
In this upturned place

Here ha de ha ha
There is no joyous day
There is no restful night
Time
has been sent into exile

An angelic
Dark blood red wing fiend
falls out of the grey clouds
As I gaze upon
The unmoving
sky
Lit up
By shooting stars

There is a thunder clap on impact
There is no heavenly body found
Just a puddle of emptiness
On the pavement
Where a body should lie

a strong smell
Of decaffeinated
Defecation
Emanates
from the puddle

Across the road
a busker is playing his silver banjo
Singing
“They say in hell if an angel lands
kill the bastard before it does spawn
But never go to where the devil stands
Cause you’ll never escape his eternities yawn”

The music continues
As I retake me seat
On the upturned beer crate

I turn my attention
to the hearse
I catch
Out of the corner of my eye
Silently
creeping in my direction

My feet feel sticky hot
My trigger finger feels cold
I blink my dead eye
I inhale
I stand
I face
A musket wielding
Tricorn hat
Grinning skeleton

The skeletons head shatters
Pukish yellow
Rotten
yolk splatters
The hearses plush red interior

I inhale
the sweet wisp
of wacky backy smoke
From the barrel
Of my smoking gun

Sitting back down
I feel splinters of drunkenness
Spasm through my thoughts

I wake in the gutter
Sitting up
On the upturned beer crate
I lower my thumping head
looking down
at my charcoal
unfashionable threads
Deciding
Wrinkles suit me

“One has to age well
To sweeten
The Cumudgeon seed
Before the mortician
Juices you
For the gods goblet “
I read
On a tattered page
From an afterlife magazine
Stuck to the pavement

Tired of waiting
I leave the comfort
Of the upturned beer crate
exiting
The scene

Part 2

I enter a desert saloon
where only gamblers swallow
As they take there last gulp
On the roulette bar gallow

This is gonna be a swell place
To die in a state without grace

I see
the moon faced bartender
Has been tattooed
With virgin blood ink

In the mirror
I see his dreams
been shot to hell

A Nightmarish Eve
stands
on the foggy stage
Playing
her smoking hot Tommy gun

My fellow bar flies
are splated
around the party scene

I swig back
the dregs of my mug
before I turn to join the fun

I stare deep
into the hallowed pits
of original sin

Eve says she’s heard
I’m the sleep walker
that’s been killing animations

I shug
My snake bitten trigger finger
Itches
I put a crater into old moonface
Before he can get in any shots

I think
Is my grim reply
From the bar stool

Part 3

I Climbed aboard the dust maker
Destination
some demented god’s acre
Eve should of chosen wiser
I mean
Why task me
With bringing enlightenment
To the gods
When I’m in this dark mood

I sit on the dustmaker
Watching the desert
Through
the kaliedoscope portal windows

Remembering a story
That went something like how

A demon once rose
Out of the desert I’m crossing
Like a mountain
and began to spawn claws

The corrupted Clay
did name them claws
laws
And at the laws
they did beateth their chest
But the demon
just subsided them into the west

The Clay
could not set themselves free
For a broiling sun
Had chained them to a tree
Which the sun did drag
into a frigid dead sea

As the tree sunk
The clay aboard
Heard the demons prophecy
Over their pleading prayers
About how the dust
would inherit
the promised land they coveted

Cursed memory
Little can be remembered
of my depraved past

My thumping head hurts
When I raise it up
From my pillow
To disembark
The Dustmaker

I stand on a platform
Over looking a winding river
Where a Yeti
sits patiently
on a upturned beer crate
On the bank
Fishing unsuccessfully
for a Sliver of hope
A dingy leaf floats across the water
Sinking
In front of his extinct eyes

Thus we shall offend the gods
By Executing
one of their abominable
Pet Creations
Whispered Eve
As we lay tangled
In sheets
of rapture music

I held my breath
My gun launched
A pint sized rocket
Towards
the moon faced yeti

My head exploded
I fell back
Of my upturned beer crate
Into the grey muddy
brain splatted
river bank behind me
Letting go
Of my fishing line
That had never hooked
A sliver of hope

I fell back
into a puddle of emptiness

Part four

I fell out of emptiness
Poured back into form
Upon a cold cold
Stone floor
Surrounded
By stainglassed
shadow Warriors
Whose light
Stares into the face
Of the pale lady statue
Strapped to the altar

I recognize
The altar
From a wedding
Magazine

Recognising
the pale lady statue
Brings me to my feet
As her name is spoken
Through my dead man’s lips

“Hel”
A memory
Is then squeezed out
As a drop of blood
From my left nostril

I catch the droplet
On the tip of my tongue
Which I Spit Out as
“my betrothed”

Standing I see a collard fiend
with a gramophone for a nose
Holding golden forceps
High above his feathered head
He plunges
Said Forceps
Into my bride

I draw my mad hound
Which barks savagely
Driving the feathered fiend back
His dark blood red wings unfurled
And Grrrrr
Wooof
And grrrrrr
Woof
And grrrrrr
Woof
And grrrrrr
Woof
And grrrrrr

As a strange
White noise gurgles
From his gramophone nose

One
Last
Explosion
of my hounds rage
Drives away the fiend
Through a stain glass warrior
Through the light
Out into the dark clouds
Banished
Forever
From the tower of silence

Alone with Hel
I try to escape her silent scream
Alas the stairs faded
A long long time ago
The spells of the collard fiends
bound us to their altar

They declared our union
Unholy
Said we were creating
MONSTERS

That Fiction hid
inside its fabled place
Hels womb

Now as I lay face down in this defiled tower
Osiris monkey prostrate as the end is born
I Miss the obliviating meteorite shower

I can’t wake the dead
I think
upon the altar
I think
upon Hel
As Words Gently sob
into the open mouth
of Hels grave stone face

In the tower of silence
there was a mocking echo
In the tower of silence
There was finally sound waves
Crashing
Onto the temple floor
Eroding
Washing
The executioners
Bloody Platform away

Meanwhile

Hidden
by silver lined clouds
A cooing ball
of pure Snow White fur
Flys through the air
As a cloud
Morphs seamlessly
into a nurturing hand
catching
the bundle of life
Which unfurls
It’s little reaching arms
It’s little kicking legs
It’s infant goofy smile

Sophia’s golden voice
Danced across the wind
To flow like warm butta’
Into the infants cold ears
As

“I’ve got you little yeti”

Then it snowed
For the very first time 

©bg 2016