ancient

Kings

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.

fields of alfalfa

stripes

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

salutations

(so check it out this is 

Davis Ayer, 

and the series is time travel, 

we'll see more of him later)

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

woundings

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

lover

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

chinkakangra

little magic

my blast-femurs chant to an unknown

like they're sending messages up there

somewhere 

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

a place to life

faint

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

pagan flames never die

Sacrifices must be made

she's been wandering so many years

the heart