Stolen Weapon of Mold

My shield,
In bed with decay,
Conquered and victim.
And armor,
Blasted by shame,
Polished raw
This sword,
Driven through,
And upon.
Infected missions of cannibal gestures,
On fields of wounded longing.
Unclean Impaler,
Found spear,
Foul axis,
Ground to sky,
Then torn to fall.

Day to Night

Spoken to the corner of the room.
Mildewed and the debris of lust.
Solvent, iodine, carbon and dust.
Subject to absolution.
Pull out barbs and red rose thorns and burs and hooks and wooden teeth.
Wash hands and feet.

The Act

Bombardier beetles, bloody beaches and blue-black bells,

Rung for protection.

Separate the moisture from the flesh and allow the will to evaporate.

Seize the gate,

A temporal state.

The invaders bite the heads off the sentries.

I ask for forgiveness and simultaneously commit the next barbarous act.

The Cold Air

Drawn sounds pushed from chest into air.
From mouth.
Open,
Cold teeth.
Tongue,
Succumbed obelisk,
Air becomes cold.
Molecules stand still.