Friday, May 21, 2010


My Pen is the parting of waves,
in a crowd of all those waiting to be saved.
He drips black oil like cum onto what was a fossil, in a forest, a million miles away.

and we slip our fingers, up the front-skirts of inebriation, as we whisper into their ears recited empty promises.
We are the very deities of Carnal Taste.

This Haiku Survived,
the bombing of Lovers lies,
yet all remained grey.

Her body was the Temple.
And all the thieves came to false worship.
Oh yeah, they gave all their loaded praise.
they came, came always to beg but never, ever pray.
they circled like vultures, always coming to prey.

Her heart was the thickness of a Beehive: She is the swarm of herself.
You can look all you want, but to taste and to touch, would always come at a price.

My eye's swallowed the ocean, they snorted the pigment of the sky.
They are twin birthmarks, my past-life of punishment, excess and crime.
My Temporal Lobe orphaned the Earthquake, breathing life into the Nuclear Butterfly.

For we are the Gods of Consensual-Rape fantasies,
forever greedy, alone and depraved.
All our good intentions and our ethics eroded,
when the right pair of eyes spreads her legs.

it felt so good to reunite with the concrete and the passing lights....

by Kyle Daniel Jones

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