Bad Juju

And after enjoying the fierce truth of this poem we can all indulge a humorous:

85 Degrees

Go on,
spill your guts:
Does your ram-headed divinity
still listen?
Does he still woo the smoke
from your intestinal pots —
ribboned in red and black —
as it makes the lazy dance?
You, Judas at my table,
depart from me!
I’ve become a newborn,
married to a Western hand. 
Though of your very blood,
I’m  baited by your art,
like a bank is constantly lapped up 
by the frothy white tongues of the sea.
If I die young,
will you wade in my blood,
will you eat my meat,
or will you take my ripe testes
for the balls of your occult bell?
I’m sated not with wine or pleasure,
but with shame and discomfort.
So I’ve come to tuck you into a bed
of nails and bones — 
the same you’d have my lie.
And damn the memories of you

View original post 6 more words



  1. Hello,

    Thanks for dropping by my site, and for the reblog. I am mighty delighted with what you have here and would love to read more when I return to full blogging — still on hiatus.

    Liked by 1 person

Comments are closed.