Man In The Radiator

 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 ...

  Broken Porcelain  Time starved by the gallowed hauntings Waiting to return to the waltz Of forced obsolescence, Ghosts spinning into amnesia Fading into the murdered framework  Islands burning into the sea  Collecting all the stolen days  Consumed by the never-ending girl  Who I sank all my troubles into, Into the shaken lost girl  Falling through scented and diseased gloom.  She smiled a draining grin That shined through the Atlantic corridor And ruptured all my plans Of ending time Of curing myself From this mysterious disease of life.  Once we kneaded together Our shattered shadows Joined me in the ceremony of severance, Emulsified our fleshy nothingness, Our altered balances, Our senses of rhythmic decline, And out came Entangled in frozen static, Severed sheets of spongy fat,  And rusted, singing coils A little dislocated child of ruin Our uncanny entity With their feet dangling into the uncanny  Unearthed, bathed in chalk, a...