dear diary,
night after night spent in a whirlwind
my precious ebony,
welcome to the opium den

hail the chelsea girls - the wandering souls that
sustain on nothing but the idea of being seen
the wandering souls that cannot bear the thought of anyone watching,
welcome to spotlight city, darkened stand the sea
breaking waves of plastic faces.

and welcome to the altar
to which we all turn to break free of deadly sins – buried deep within clouds
of peroxide blonde hair, twirling in the midst of the shallow,
moonlit runs through winding tunnels
chinese silk and spiked stilettos,
sweet liquor and cheap cigars.

for frankincense and myrrh - the pigeons on my window sill
for the dusty milk of my poppy and the truth of smokey skies,
embracing every cavity, a vase of dried patchoulis
an ode to our dead flower jubilee.


the mile high club

dear diary,
for our dead flower jubilee
from woodland to island
these scribbles left on old receipts

deranged dreams on crowded airplanes
four in the morning, someone murmuring
i would like to bury my nails in his skin
engrave myself upon his bare existence
savage baby, why are you burning,
 savage baby, how gently we weep
five in the morning, someone whispering
strawberry delights like cream on your tongue
savage baby with silver skin
your one and only trophy
from love with thunder, my ecstasy

for our dead flower jubilee,
pacing through monstrous terminals
pounded through bone and flesh
caught in a constant state of lumina


faces morphing to the steady beat of an ancient drum
and by the beauty of destruction
our castle in the clouds