opened hearted many
Paul Kavanagh

cold death shower
from ouranos' wound came the furies, the giants and the nymphs
clipped genitals bloomed aphrodite
in agony
even heaven has begotten monsters she told him, can you hear the capering of goats from across the fields
played with under bedsheets eating the innards
impenetrable darkness
wind and sour piss methuselah's wasted penis
plucked his fingernails
arcimboldo portrayed you
a postcard arrived a paltry view of chicago skyline at night african taxi driver smoked reeked of nicotine and booze, talked of cicero
she laughed, her mother had warned her to quit
suicide attempt had been an affair
lost in despair without a care
that aperture was nothing more than a piece of literature
petronius comes to mind
sown up

painted sirens serenading me

a deflated mattress and the bedbugs, the cold, a sheet, a pillow, the misery of his dregs
kicked stones, pebbles and rocks
acheron, styx and cocythus run sweetly
run sweetly until i end my
a fish the putrid bubbles of buoyant crawled over the dead
the decomposing, the putrefying, the regurgitating of detritus, of slime, of wood, of lead, of heart, of lung, of eyes, of brain, of skull, bellows,
yells, cusses, profanities and a cacophony of trumpets, horns, and drums rage
blockhead cappochio, and the fat bastard ciacco, and the horny ciratto
gut in the mud, slime crawling towards the belly
though they too possessed skins, fat, flesh, veins, arteries, ligaments, nerves, cartilages, glands, bones, marrow, humors, wombs, brains and
recognizable articulations, they were not like me and me not like them
the bed
brushstrokes softly