in the garden of the gods (poem)
the god of the humans / is a parasitic vine…
the god of the humans / is a parasitic vine…
In recent centuries, the eaters / of the dead have shrunk in numbers…
My face has no face, only expressions.
You ever watch that British baking program where they’re all sweet & polite / & you just know…
You imagine us angry, spiteful, / eager to destroy the world…
Lewd hooves trample geometry…
Skin tossed onto the chair / spine tucked under the bed…
Little Shop of Horrors plays…
I don’t want you to think / I’m stalking you…
Antifa is / dew that rises / from a dark corner / of the walled garden…