Why does he bother… deprived duende, marred by a sombrous mien, building bridges with deadwood, in a language he alone speaks; farouche, and paying the tolls to navigate the ashes yet to be, hopeless to redefine that synecdoche

An innominate one, extending his naïve tongue for the whim of a wafer, an exegesis literatim; marginalized for the well-adjusted, he’s left inviting an invective soliloquy for the lack of intellection and for the simple company… of another

Walking barefoot whereupon the crimson let, a macadam packed with ossified offerings and reified refusals; a cramoisy craquelure of his sanity beneath a lazuline skyscape, blemished in perpetuity by a thunderous tumor over tremulous shoulders stalking

He dares straddle the liminality delineating equilibrium and deliquium, controlled by porous hands bearing pious guilt; a back-scratching, favor-hatching collective society who shuns purgation, while lamenting hestern and filling entitled shovels to tamp the exploitable dirt

art: Three Studies for a Crucifixion (2) by Francis Bacon


Layered psychoses
swelter her brow,
helter-skelter sans
clemency of a breath;

nested neuroses
bombastically loud,
she’s a madness of
matryoshka dolls;

infinity mirrors of
dwindling sanity,
bearing distant truths
of her diminishing self;

the taunting homunculi
with unreal expectations,
synchronize chides for
Platonic perfection;

this ephemeral Form
of unattainable need,
is found unapologetic in
the auspicious greed of

the commercial zeitgeist

art: The Cloud Seed by Margarita Georgiadis

The foundation

His light slinks away through the
dormer down, cowardice cleaving
an ever present foundation of
atrament; the vagabond splays

its seductive lumen, as shadowed
steps abet its getaway; the down-
ward darkened stairs impair a
festinated chase to the reproachful

hardwood below; he watches the
trail of unrequited repulsion,
lamenting his apathy to follow;
swaddled in irascible blindness,

he saturates the suffocating silence
with a verbigeration of long for-
gotten importances; a vegetative
brume consumes his perversion of

life, each heartbeat a cheville within
the foundation of miasmic emptiness,
each exhale germinates festering
fissures with dying undergrowth;

sightless, mightless, and lightless,
rooted to wishlessness beyond
hopelessness, he waits until next
his cornerstone crumbles to dust

art: by Eric Lacombe


Risen out of favor, the
demon lost its wings; a
momentary lapse of evil,
granted to a more pathetic

soul; its transient spark of
compassion, an elemental
blink of its eye, heaved it
into the mortal realm, a

punishment for corruption;
it awakened within the
wretched soul’s mind, as a
dark passenger, perhaps,

for he who felled its villainy;
a retributive satellite wherein
malefic skill could be honed,
and a return to the deep

could be forged; it was soon
accosted by madness and pain,
the likes of which it had
never inflicted nor imagined;

it fought for control, to no
avail; rent into submission,
insanity flayed by something
beyond; crushing blackness in

a frozen cell, it soon realized
the sin of its failure hadn’t a
second chance, but an eternity
in Hell’s unspeakable Hell

art: autoportrait by Peterio