this is how
i feel your pain.
it’s a torniquet
drawn too tight,
an artery straining.
it’s the sharp jab
of a needle,
the sting of
an exotic toxin
streaming slowly
to my heart.



* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *



the white noise fading
a null at the signal’s edge
joy’s lost frequency



* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *



in the few quiet hours
when the mind's
vagrant toxins recede
and the madness is still,
longing for you whispers
in the darker hollows, and
becomes a sibilant echo,
a shiver that grips my heart.




* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *




i trace the smooth topography of your skin
with my tongue.

i kiss the faded ink of an old tattoo,
a thunderbird’s wings splayed like a lurid bruise
at the base of your spine.

i lay my palm flat upon your belly,
fingers spread in a crooked radius as if to map
the ripe cavity of your womb.

below the hard ridge of your pubis,
an opaque, sticky residue stains my lips.
i can still taste your bitter-sweet need.




* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *




some fugitive gene
keeps me running.
near sleep, this dream
of a nameless crime
abrades the edge of
consciousness.

tell me everything
she whispers, as if
confession, the dull
litany of mortal sins,
might lift the stain
of memory.

nothing can save me
i insist, ignoring
the uncertain lie.
a grim barricade
of fractured shadows
mutes her sorrow.




* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *




heart eclipsed
by doubt. a rush
of cold anxiety
beneath the skin
like bad crystal meth’.

stark nightmare
waking in twilight,
a stone rattlesnake
clutched too tightly to
your breast, stained
with poisoned sweat.

hope fades. this
faint tremor beneath
the tattooed petals of
your wrist, blood
leached in grim ritual,
sucked from thin veins.





Read the Creed O'Hanlon interview in this issue of HoboEye >

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