Man In The Radiator

  Halloween Deserted Wounded paper bats, Front porch ghouls And their howling, gaping maws,  Leaves crinkling and crunching Like petrified petals of dried, burnt flesh Or fat brittle beetles  Wheezing and cracking open Beneath my slow, heavy footfalls As I march in loneliness  Towards the slaughtering procession, The candy-corn-scented gathering  Looking to trample over me  Squeezing out my guts and stringing them  Through thinning scarecrows, Scattering my ineffectual essence Into the last sharpened divinity Of petrified, orange moonlight. All the festering jack-o-lanterns  With the top of their heads unevenly cleaved off, Their jagged self-harm expressions  Mocking the depths of the ignited hollowness Lurking behind my eyes, It all means  Less than nothing  As October slits its wrists And painfully drains away.  Frozen in the dripping autumn sun, Abandoned at the convergence of  All my destroyed tomorrows Lurking and awaiting their attack  While plastic Frankensteins and little orpha

 I really don't know about this one. Half of this was written in a sleepless stupor during my time in Germany. The rest of it was written back in my rapidly closing-in world back home, isolating further and further. Someone take my dreams away. I don't think I even own my head.  My Empty Body There’s a siren of crows Carried through the seismic currents Of oscillating church bells  And bombed-out ruins, monuments to  The bloodthirsty divine. Throbbing teeth-indented chunks  Torn from crimson fingertips  Hermetically cloaked by noxiously scented spirits  Tracing the air  With a ballet of syllables, spelling out  All the newly discovered  Ways to die.  From their crackling beaks, lined with Scars from blackened lightning bolts, Drops a flurry of Ratkings  Onto the solemn beggar’s head, His skull is connected to his neck Only by a soiled, coiled rosary Each bead beating with a slow pulse, Getting slower By each passing procession of gargoyle-faced heretics Ignoring his open Searin