fete

i saw seven
bronzed, winged women,
clad in blood-red
feathers of velveteen gold,
skipping in the spectral fire.

the ferris wheel's festive garlands
danced to and fro above the flaming fete,
sprinkling ashes like neon confetti
upon the gluttonous dying below,
burying them in their smoldering lust.

when the final struggling juggler
collapsed at last in smoking attire
a cry of dismay erupted from the crowd
and bitterly they cursed the corpses
for the carnival must go on.

nightmare

an eternal pulsing matter
a spectral sphere of squalor
hanging from thunderous threads
above a darkness perpetual

shadowy spirits running amok
writhing about in a hellish dance
this planet feeds forever on its young
an eternal escalation of breadth

an astral being faster than time itself
throbbing hard on my heels
gloom slowly encapsulating
i am swallowed

the twins

when they emerged,
clawing their way from the womb
like a pair of rapacious wolves,
the pupil of the one-eyed doctor
flashed a curious glint.
the twins burst forth in a fury
of bloody opposition;
edward, the eldest, exhibited
a self-aggrandizing grin.
hot at his heels was his adversary;
patrick’s puerile paws held
tight ‘round his brother’s hair,
but the lone locks of edward’s scalp
could not withstand the pressure.
they tore,
trapping the disenchanted patrick
within his screaming mother
and edward, though victorious,
remained bald forever.