Mercury Glasses 

Mercury glasses held in
The decadence of night
By beings inside warped mirrors
Hold up blinking ornaments
To their mystified chins.
Gooey stars drift in whirlwinds
Within redolent aethereal spheres.

Hospices filled with the shunned:
Beggars, lepers, and cunts.
Doors to rooms; gateways that severed
When order had been ordained.

Bleats demoralizing these structures
Warding them away inside antistructures
From history’s censured misadventures;
Hating, disgusted, lamenting at
Pointed fingers; objected.

Holograms of limboed dreams
Limned by dripping reference beams.



They held their hands
To their eyes
To shield them
From the sun.

Dramaturgical acts
Drummed on
Hidden strings.

Those effigies enacted
Beneath non-redacted scenes
Retracted in accidental realms;

Reams of sanguine streams
Run on electricity
Barely visible on the brink.


“Blasted be this space!”
For we did not know which way to go.
“Perchance we should engorge ourselves
Whither that planet, o’er yonder
Replete with a range of,
What they call
Themselves; human, brains.”
“N-yes, indeed
We’d find much
Needed sustenance in this place:”

Blue-green shades;
Formations overlaid.

Distortions melded freely.
“Mayhap we could enter
Dimensions with more gain.”
“Considerable losses
Must be taken into


Silent emanations of netherworlds
dastardly play with emotions
as though they were toys.

Jenga piles; lip services
placed and reapplied,
suctioned into vacuum seals
then labeled as misnomers.

Patterned jigsaw tiles;
warped cardboard designs
of pinpointed accuracies,
their abilities.

Casted pea pods;
marbled conundrums
of circumstantial amazements:

Laughing at
my sanity.


Shortly after golems of amorphous forms
trudged into ordered parallels beneath the breadth
of groin vaults and intersecting thumbnails,

I walked along the fray of mirrored archways
examining the differences in the fissures of mounded earth,
trying to find one I had seen in the years
of past lives from those I had met.

But I had learned that in creation,
they had never
been made to be the same.

The Worst

The worst could be held
at guantanamo bay.

Those things that would cause
us to shudder, at the mention
of the heinous things they’d say.

Forgotten disdain,
forged again and again,
turned beyond recognition
into pulpous corpses.

Perfected stories
altered, repeated,
each time spoken;
addled lines, pretenses,
to make the story great.

Devoid of realness
left to strafe.