A VOID

 A VOID

a static feast, platters heaped
high with cruel and violent
delights—some rendered as
sweetmeats, some as overcooked
steak—carbonized until transformed
into something antitoothsome and
ferociously in need of
mastication beyond any normal mouth…

hence, and so, the demons
of some forlorn and two faced
month crawl from their suburban
hells, to celebrate some crude
and broken Agonalia, too eager
to offer the sacrifice—only willing
to read if the text is haruspical—
to sail if the sea is spittle—
to hear if the scream is
far beyond paranymic—to be

only if they can be
nearly empty vessels of need,
yawping mouths wide and yowling,
mewling, amok, crying out for
the ghost of a meal
they had only ever dreamed.

WORTAUFSCHÜTTUNG

WORTAUFSCHÜTTUNG

shovel mouthed, you dig
a ghost of a grave, a
maskless leer—here we

dance on pages torn
from spinebroken books,
somethere when you wake,

take a swig of chemical green
mouthwash, minting your
tongue anew, a new hole,

bottomless in your yawp,
your coughed confession,
your ill-wished wants,

somehere we make a sigil
of roads, an open way to
ward you off, with your

wallcrusted soul funneling
wirebarb sharp syllables
past the careless guardposts

of your yellowing incisors.