Down

Here lies a dragon
cold like milk fish underground,
lifeless for fables.

@ Steven Francis poems 2010

Paper .dot

Achieve naught but stalks of withering columns
grating on an eye less bed as they sway in harmony
to music of the empty tribes.
The Great S.... ! Alive on parchment but doomed
to meet his End like flies and rats,
to writhe in earnest in his earthly pit.
Or the Clever E..... the wire man,
his icy wit now charred from eternal nights,
a tongue as dry as a leather belt and mute as sand.
All fall down,
all fall down,
both pretty and the wise
all fall down...

@ Steven Francis poems 2012

Merry Slitmywristamas

Bonjour noel
as the demons did sing,
'cept nothing sings tonight (only howls)
and I am stranded in the bowels of caligula,
molesting a dirty grin on my lips.
Joy for a hooded bullet that is winking like Mephistopholes
begging me to peel its merry shell
and prick a 2012 calibre hole...

@Steven Francis poems 2011

Poet Caught in Zipper

That hurt the man flesh,
hurt so bad like mutes starved of words.
Diabolical waves suddenly crashing over euphoria
replacing all with agony,
fearsome jolt to the groin,
unhappy me!
Miserable creature caught in a cruel pinch
like teeth grating the very core of my rattling muse.
On fire, the brazen bull is lit
and I dance to fierce tunes
as foul judgement befalls my ever swollen prize...

@Steven Francis poems 2011

Cow Skull Synagogue

Time ~
stripped away by tearaways
and falcons,
left bald and boneless
in the lap of eternity.
Grieving buckleheads
fold in cirrhosed shells
like fingers of a god
knuckle deep in bloodied salt.

Love is the guts
to this world,
and we pickled minnows
content in artery tins,
bloated by plastic
and hysteria,
we dive under psychotic herons
in search of loot and song.
Never to feel the lick of hades
on our dandy spines.

Tender years
cruel years,
drawing the unsuspecting
to their graves.
Pulling fangs inward
to the strange, endless gullet
of the bone citadel,
where air will leave our mossy lips
like sour milk,
every path leads to stone...

@ Steven Francis poems 2011

Me To Me and I

Two balls with a salamander's eye,
one pinched like a septic scab
the other mourned in a Trappist sty.

Prayers scraped from an honest stone,
sincere words on target
aimed at dry, decieving bones.

Lusty arias on a veiny shelf,
stabbing fishnet willows
milking the swollen self.

Casket cases in sober lines,
through iced temptations
over darkened miles.

Figure hang from trident pole,
scattering fish and ogres
into hollow holes...

@Steven Francis poems 2011

Sometimes I Forget

The scars of the world
are often too much
that sometimes I forget to breathe.
Forget to watch
the kingfisher sunrises
forget my eyes to see.

Forget to breathe
the eyeless air
and pierce new age with thorn.
To tear my sight
from murderous hoardes
and live like the water born.

@ Steven Francis poems 2011