Wednesday, October 26, 2011



I've been reflected in all these ways for all this time and still I feel dejected rejected and malaise like a crown of heaven with such dire lightning bolts to spear the sky in a long pink dream, unused. postulated but unseen and never dripping down the clouds with the poison ink of unkind. humankind. it's a paradise like the living death of awkwardness. all I SEE are shades of pink and purple, and a small tequila sunset all amade of bluey green. that's the colour of a jaded rhum nirvana. everything in shades and angles. sunglasses and a tomb. just like the great brass carapace I wore eon before. corona of songs and serfs. let that be a lesson to anyone who holds a scepter to the sun. you are a weathervane, and you see to the north east and west (the south is already yours) and you are a lightning rode and you attract all of earth's danger and her heaven's hell too. 

am a piece of jade
so cool to bring peace
am a slab of stone
I freeze to you
so cold as to bring death
we walk the walk
now talk 

today I walked to the well and I drug up the bucket. I drank and the water had a foul flavour. I put a penny on my tongue, the copper scaled over, green. the well had grown a dire evil, cursed, full of demons, and down in the boiling hell beneath the earth some of satan's fire had bubbled into the cistern. all around the well were the cloaked bodies of black skin, cloaked in the gray and brown of supplicants, they had perished. how I had not noticed them before, I do not know. I slipped the penny neath my tongue and hurried home. now I write this and in my hear there is a something, heaven sound. like the chattering of silver bells and the tongue of a voice I do not understand. now I write this and my eyes are closing happy, my tongue only aches. and I am heavy, and the pen is heavy, and I am not so afraid to have drunk from the well of kings.

the. ass.

Friday, October 14, 2011

fields of alfalfa


oh my god out of the mouth of righteousness
at last it's like a sun sickle reaping my eyes
and I'm so high on conquest
this, everything, all greatness
it rubs off on me
it kinda
gets on my skin


(so check it out this is 
and the series is time travel, 
we'll see more of him later)

Thursday, October 13, 2011

una verguenza

I have two uses 
like a gypsy on a string
her body covered in colourful saludes
the light counseling a strict master 
making her long and mean and strong
her face was burnt by ashes 
from the puling of the sun

my liver was the anchored stump 
that saved the russian crown
my eyes were of her majesty
nestled in her gown

I have two uses
two more in other metaphors
a magic wand or a prosthetic limb
one for everything you've ever wanted
and everything you'll ever lose

s. sparling

Wednesday, October 12, 2011


the story of christian

so I picked up my camping gear and we headed up into the west
where the mountains climb higher than the feet of men
where only bird dare touch but never live

this has come with the challenge of fluids
from the shattering of teeth 
from the clank of bone
from the red letter blood left upon my sheets

that was a poem for my sister to find and for my lover still
and she thought it was of her natural body
the kind that is wept in the mourn of a nothing child
but it was mine and it came from a split upon my face

the split had opened a moon ago
and many more came to follow
until I was swept up and growing thin

my sister bathed my black eyes
my lover studied my wrists
they hung pale like ivory 
cepting for the blue twist of vein still scaling up the ridge of bone 
like vines to the bricks of the buildings on my block

you've lost too much blood
she told me
my sister sobbed
you've lost too much of everything
she told me

what is this pain and why is it seeping beneath my floorboards
what germ in my condition is causing this flesh to give
and give what?

give all of me

so I head for the mountains of monsters
up to the west where the sky has no friend
but the mild acquaintance of the starlight

and there it can paint me like a shepherd 
my flock is tumbling from my arms

s. sparling

Friday, October 7, 2011


little magic

my blast-femurs chant to an unknown
like they're sending messages up there
I can feel their surly twitch

got some gods on the mind!
maybe, baby
we're talking about an all too soon
birth of the daughter of the devil
full grown
with a red hat
green eyes
a mystifying glance
decked with whip and scepter
neck tender
and the legs of a goat

but that is just suspension
cause I know the intention
blast-femurs, blast-femurs
arms that never give no reasons

s. sparling

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

a place to life


ghost colour quaff my bruised throat
pitter patter and the smears of flesh 
like red phantom veil
white brush stroke
I can not breath for the vapors
a specter in varying tones

signal signal in the ether
clouds of minds gone by into enervation
there is a look there of boredom
and each passing age
folds into the next and disappears
and she disappears too