Poems

Gloryhole for the GodsSanctuary haze and cum-stained glass, where holy hands and filth entwineThe faithful crawl on padded knees,their sin baptized in latex shine.The priest wears heels, the nuns wear chains,the saints in lube and rubber knotsSalvation moans in rented rooms,confession never quite forgot.The chalice spills with burning names,each prayer a whispered dirty pleaIndulgence paid […]

Golden ChainsIn the black cathedral of ambition,where hunger kneels on marble floorsAnd fortunes arecounted in prayers muttered through broken jawsA chill metallic glint flickers in the sockets of those long buriedTheir coffins lined with tarnished crowns,greed’s whispers hurried—The echo of empires devoured by the ache to consumeGold gleaming brightest just before it damns the room.Each

Flags Made of SkinBeneath the shadow of artillery’s blunt and brutal hymnThey cut the flag from living bodies,stitched by gaslight and a national whim.Boys in dress uniformsand girls in Sunday laceMothers who clung to medals, fatherswho vanished without a trace—All butchered by men in polished shoeswho never stepped in bloodWho spoke of freedom with a

Friendly FireThe report said the rounds came from the wrong direction,and the investigation was a kind of deflection,and the family received the visit and the flag and the regret,and the incident report is classified, they have not read it yet. Friendly fire is the cruelest kind of vocabulary,because the word friendly is doing too much

Father, Forgive Me (For I Have Sinned)Father, Forgive Me (For I Have Sinned) (Redux)Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned—Trust was the birthrightthat let him begin.The booth reeked of incense, secrets, and sweatConfession reduced to a ritual of regret.His hand, cold with authority,pressed tight to my skin,“Don’t tell,” he whispered,hiding rot within.Branded as destiny, sold

Feast of the ForgottenA woman sleeps beneath the billboard, graced by faces she’ll never touchPlastic saints in Calvin Klein, their smile a promise,but the rain’s too much.The city’s veins are broken glass and urine,bus exhaust for prayerShe curls beneath a neon “SALE”that flickers above wet hair.Her blanket’s newsprint—yesterday’s warand tomorrow’s mealAnd the man beside her

Endless HungerBeneath the hush of gold-plated banquet halls,where gluttony is worshipped and nobody cares what price is paidTables groan with offerings—meat slick with grease,bread split open and buttered by the starving and the overfedFruit rotting at the edge of silver platters,pulp bursting in colors so rich the eyes recoilLips stained with juice and shame, hands

Faminefuck She’s been living on rain and empty prayer, nothing in her gut but the sharp memory of taste, gnawing her nails in a room with a mattress that smells like sweat and ghostsThree days without a bite, but she’d rather feast on the salt of his neck than suck on any charity—her hunger sharp

Emotional ExtinctionThe world falls apart in silent scrolls, each calamity reduced to a passing waveWreckage blurred by habit, faces swapped and dulled,grief just another click to save.The flood feeds nothing but exhaustion,outrage drained by repetition, numb in its decay—Rain falls as headlines,memory erased, compassion bled out in the digital gray.A thousandtragedies compete for space, but

Empty FieldsHe crosses earth gutted by centuries of droughtPast furrows that once bore wheat but now only doubtUnder a sky washed pale by prayers unansweredWith footsteps that echo the old world’s cancer.He movesthrough the bones of the harvest, through orchards dry as boneEach stalk a monument to hunger,each root a whispered moan.The wells are choked