Tag Archives: writing

[ a.ku.ma. ; the cobalt theorist ]

[Written on 22/8/2017]

A boy stands – –
– – and bears no crude telling—no rabbit-eyed, cog-laced moniker.
and the vital ever-drone of mortal pattering
precedes him.
( and he could’ve sworn they came to carve a sea of rulers—
crook-and-tallied with mortimer limbs and drowned in belly-fulls of
tellurian fauxcider ; – spiced with Neptune and an inkling of bluebird salt,
as the recipe goes—)

A boy stands – –
– – and in creeping tow—waft scabrous hands:
exiles off the charted vales of Drosselmeyer — the old lore-lusting cadaver.
they arc and cast airs like hexed harpoons, ailing mimickers of graver portents—
of the long-horned Final Days.
( he keeps a keychain for a token of such looming times:
a shapen Babylon bodied with toyland-scrapers
and no miniature harlot in sight. )

A boy stands – –
– – eyes poised as parlours for the twilit homeless and marbled—( oh-so beyond-ly—)
as chromallyn compasses.
i am misfit,
croons the aurora down the spineless canal, past the vorpal loft that teems (startling) with wind-up comets (and a giddy rocking-horse rhyme- -)
(and while the earth spins a maw out of matcha-foil and plays society’s latrine for all-dastardly-time- -)the attic resides in the heart, pulsed with wonderland readings—
to this, he endeav

i am misfit i am )

-ours a sweet return.


saving lazarus

[Written on 5/7/2017]

i have no words
breathes the arcanum in fool’s flesh-for-garb.
his goldberg bracelet now dismembered- –
like kismet’s dung { like treasure }

i shall offer unto you
hopes the beast that is not.
his verveful house is spinning on nostrums dipped- –
in the blood of plums { merry-go-oceans }

i shall offer unto you – –

calls he,
to the cherished far-gone, the coveted obsolete—

the heart that 

fuels me. 

the mecha-lark definition ;

[Written on 25/4/2017]

impudent. } 
so scathes thy concrete will – –
out a mercury-spout, regulations hum
salacious song to sparrow’s meagre dance.
– – ah and,
you’d like the tune—wagers he, teeth brewing a shot of glee in the knife-night—
the way it wraps itself
around those neural tombs
where you buried all and epsilons and me.

– where is your
{ hiss and tangent ; haemo-vengeance—
where is your sparrow now

{ wretched warlock
I bid to you, hello; I have- –
gin a-cacklin’ in the boiler-room
a quarter-bone away. you’d
want some.” – –claim a heckle, a high and the inverted-fang sculptor.

i’d reversed the spines while you were away
sapped minuses to imitation void.
see? see—!

see the lacunae we groomed along that fallow equator- –
see the machinated looms, the figure-funnels
see the mecha-lark; its harrowed beginnings—

see the fledgeling corridor, the spite-lines- –
that haunt, a slave-movement to
{ bohemian nocturne , psi-concoction:
of Leviathan composer.
see the mecha-lark; its macabre medium—

see my gift for you, prancing memento
see the { needle } in the winery,
the heart in the beat- –
ready the adieu, ready
for the mortal turbine in the blue.
for the ribcage roundabouts that spin, livid
for you. my defamation darling
and see the mecha-lark, its avant-end—

—and blood, soon; shall it reap off you.

nullibicity (no more lanterns)

[Written on 12/4/2017]

and the cat’s out of the biblical bag,

out of the flexible tome Abyss charted in

its gallant descent to earth nouveau.


and It tells you, in whispers esoteric (technical waifs, I’d befriended them – –
friends ; I’d always wanted, you know

that there are creeping codes to living , – –
a city of vermin posing as civilian cryptogram
to marshal revelry in robotic blanche, and safeguard
{ the Colon command }
– – immobilize the cardiac panel – –
immobilize now , aeons proscribed
poised for dark deletion.


logistics whirr, tandem in medicine
in the sugar-flecked malaise of rococo bleach ;
{ why were the pavers late? just. damn WH ..Y—[
“…you botched the pact, and I know
see that sacrilegious meta-claw, how it spumes
toxic, vilest-fresh from Wonderland.
and you plead not, lifeless hallowed appeal! but
– -by the scheme-of-flesh, I vow
to raze the lights. decimation
’till I am free.


i bid thee farewell, {chimes the newly-devil
– – o, noble creed of lantern.

[ to: the pantheon of the morgue ]

[Written on 19/3/2017]

to the  { pantheon of the morgue } , thou best bestow
offerings of an ilk no mortal should know :


unto Crescent Death , a palmful of amber shivers
– – to go fetchingly with the glimmer-blade that nips and dances and demon-prances
in the shelter of the keyhole-eye of Styx’s virgin coffer.
— { } —
[[ the fanged un-deity should soon tell you–
–in strains wicked and mechanical, Cheshire cogs a-rattling for a knell–
that she likes them better stained with b l o o d . 


unto Half Death , a sliver of the deadest blue
– – see the phobo{scope} bare in its fractal readings:
sorrow-limbed breaths, violet-dyed {{ ….violent-. died
all over its mid-mortal anatomica
— { } —
[[ such an offering should do to appease a youthscape
of starlets razed to plasmaNaught
by rending, retch-mongering ” v i r t u e “. ]]


unto Waning Death , a feather for an ink-doused thought
– – to accord a speck of beauty where ashes have long scribed
embered penance
into the left-over bones from monochrome expunged.
— { } —
[[ and o brazen one, it is better to
pretend that you see not, covet not–
the butterfly graves that simmer a wistful, weeping froth
amidst her smoldering toes.


and last of all , unto Waxing Death
an amethyst or two, to plant in city squares
of arachnid craft by the hands of stygian-garbed architects–
–and deeper still even, past neon shallows into atria wherein
brews the Primeval Dusk of the Morgue.
— { } —
[[ if thou should dare plunge to gift–
–tread carefully.
for no hollower a domain is there in this realm
than the heart of the Waxing Death. 



[Written on 7/2/2017]

once upon a devilish, stained-glass palate,
came blooming a cardiaxillon ;

t’was a foreign bud in the midst of greying axons – –
sepia wirings and mildewed saturn’s rings—
{ “strewn like faux-cadavers they were, all figure-bones and timed-out, rotting ciphers—}

—out of miasmic hummings, it came to bloom,
and just as so duly commanded at the primal hour – –

the seers took to a ghostly watch.

a cautionary case of mortem fever

[Written on 28/11/2016]

If the only way my heart can beat for you,
is in a symphony of rage, a burst of vengeful ire,
in a bid for murder and flame and fire, more fire–

{ just k no.w  … i ….

I’d feed it all the fuel in the world it could ever hope to crave.
// —want or need or thirst or h un ger
to the brink of the Sullen hour in which my bones spell:
{ sweet – – blemished surrender. }
to the lavender-blue and lovely-pink of
the notion of  { dying with you } .

vesper wields the necrolyte.

[Written on 14/11/2016]

I AM :#

( devil – – deface the nova helix
( beacon – – encrypt the Astra reign
( orion – – to map the veins annexed
( dipper – – in mind brews scorpio hex

( angel – – command to reap due bones
( bullet – – of platinum dark device
( corona – – singes the neuron blight
( vesper – – wields the necrolyte.

creeping coalesce.

[Written on 23/10/2016]

Revenant, he’d found those eyes,
A siphoned blue, of fog’s final breath,
A tinkle of ether-magic, resigned to the courting of lesser greys that hobble and hunger
Those eyes he’d etch into constellated skin, mottled archways and satin grooves — bejewel those earthen stars that scaled his own paper spine —
Now tinseled with the flavor of him.

A sylvan conquest, he’d found that skin,
Territory of the most otherworldly design,
Home to quasi-fae that recline on homegrown heartbeats,
their darling, beating astral spells sown in the river of pulse,
and ivy pools that echo gingerly by the bank
That skin he’d bleed into (— perhaps, should his courage mount just an aching, aching notch—), ride the river of pulse that scorns Acheron’s mourning –
Like a ghost, tide-borne, in pursuit of a beckoning heart.


[Written on 5/10/2016]

in a far-off hour:  { one distant and dreaming, and a frightful measure more blessed with Being than the wilting Now–

i bade the ruby, rose-borne tenants of a labyrinth of harlequin veins, the ones that towered over those sleeping thoughts of mine that loaned them, ever-gracious- –

– – a favoured twilight, a shining dusk ;

— a dawn trimmed at its seams with pixie ashes of phantom wars, gossamer graves in splinters and riven song —

these i bade them, left prayers at the foot of a mourning patchwork door, wove shards of benediction into walls of weeping gold-lust.

these i bade in hopes of harnessed hues, of gradient saviors to reignite.

to Inhabit again.