Death Waits

Death waits.

Death is bored.

Death is tapping his bony fingers on the table (obsidian inlay probably).

Death sighs.

Death unlocks his phone, and likes God's selfie (where is She, the Golden Gate?).

Death thinks, What am I here for. My work is automated. In every system, degradation, death and decay are embedded, subtly and efficiently, in the clickbaits, in the duckfaces in the gangbangs. The personal touch, the craft, they're gone. My father would be ashamed to see how things have turned out, if he were alive today.

Death gets a notification on his Apple Watch, Junko Takahashi.

Death says aloud, Finally, then sits up straight, closes his eyes, opens his mind, his black robe becomes everywhere endless as his atoms turn inside out through the folds of space time to meet Junko on the way.


life grew legs                i see an ad
and trampled life             on every surface
the world is dead             i see them
the apple of knowledge rots   written in the sky

i try to sleep                how to keep your teeth white
i killed my friends           now i know i must

to the, through the           i sell my life
something, with the           to buy it back
forest, trees                 i know its worth this way
baby, bathwater               i click to live
victor, spoils                i like and in return am liked


the picture of beauty, or The Mere Object

when i was young, my mother kept a picture of a beautiful woman hung up on the wall above the bed. it was just a decoration to her, something pretty. but to me it was a window into a dream. i asked her, Who is that lady, and she said, She's nobody sweet baby girl, just a beautiful picture, isn't it lovely? she said It, i remember that. She, It, the woman on the wall, white and thin and pleased with her power. She looked like she lived in the sky.

i grew up staring at Her thoughtlessly, just taking Her in, as i lay on the dirty carpet and watched the dust rise up as i rolled in the sun coming through the window. i was alone most of the time back then, but somehow it felt like She was alone with me. She melted into my thoughts, when i looked in the mirror and saw Her on the wall opposite and myself reflected back. it was as if She said, See me, see me, see me, see me, until She filled the frame, until there was no room left for my dark and ugly face.

i grew to hate myself, and it took me a long time to see how that related to being seen.

now that i'm older, older than Her, older than my mother when she died, i think back on them with sadness. my mother, blanker than canvas, failed to make anything beautiful in her entire life, herself and myself included. and She, or It, or she, or it, The Mere Object, nearly degraded me to its level. objects can be beautiful; many are created by mankind--and mankind alone--for that purpose. but i am not an object, i was not then, i never will be, and i forever reject the obscuring veneer of beauty.


pop song

the wind obscures something.
the distance you keep
must be heavy to carry
drop it and come to me
you never reveal the stars thru the rain

do not hide your whole life.
your whole life is as light as the wind
it's heavy now
so let go and come to me
you never reveal the scars thru the pain

bridges fall
and are built again
canyons collapse
and rise again

you're running away tonight.
the wind is at your back
i am behind you calling
i cannot see you
i do not know how
you always conceal the stars thru the rain


the lizard circle

the lizard circle takes a name
uncouth uncut for holy game
i know once lost will not regain,   nor torchlight end
                                      mine eye comply

touch stone upon the sulphur core
if quoth a raven "never", more
or lessing cost the hidden door,   let raining rend
                                      thy sinking sky

the night was young before she grew
a lizard's crown of scale for you
before the toll of life's curfew,   the dark amends
                                      dry blinded eyes



i am the last of the last
marbled and heaving and ripe.
don't open the gate,
just consume me.

i am the first of the last.
i am the all and only one who is naturally evil.

who is naturally evil?
i am.
who was naturally good?
i was.
who will be free?
i will.
the last of the last is first
to die
and last to live completely free.

freedom is the power
to think the thoughts i want.
lust is the power
to do the thoughts i think.
i am free i am lust i am power.

the world is charmed.
the world is cursed.
the world walks right up to me,
bold and blushing.
i sign its breast, indelibly.