Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Untitled #15

Untitled #15


…In this headless night, how I love the vapours of my death in this violent, cascading blindness, drunken with spasms, intoxicated, decapitated oh how I love, in this dry gallery, upon the wrenched bones of darkness, ejaculating sparks of flames from an abyss of absent shit, I am the regalia of the pit and the cracked sky’s death, as it burns out, pregnant with frozen loss, my absent tears are love, I am within, without, spitting gilded sunlight, dragging my flesh from a grave of decaying flowers, I laugh, I know no answers, I spill my own blood upon ice, I am no longer here, yet I bathe, there is nothing here, in the birthing of funereal bruises of petals, upon the flesh of abjuration, my vacant eyes stare at the sun, I am not yet blinded by emptiness, in a rage of scarlet teeth still I tear at the meat of nothingness, within these cylindrical walls, my existence moving toward brutality, towards the ends of night, my fingers are paralysis, I am the meat of one thousand agues, one thousand grieving widows, I am death in the sunlight, I scatter severed lips to the bloody earth I dream, here, now, and never before as the pulse drags the corpse from an eternal grave of silence, words defecating their lightless pageantry, I am sliver, tooth, and absent tongue, my death I refute, embrace, the winds caress my denuded eyes, tombs like black ice shatter as the abattoir beckons, bends in intoxicated light out of reach and desolately beautiful I shatter, there is nothing more, I laugh to myself, I spit I am love overflowing, my blindness is of scars, of rot, of kicking up autumn leaves in the morning sun, I dream, spine of electrical storms, something has dressed in regalia this flesh forever fading away, beneath the gallows of the sky at night, yet something in the nothing lingers, something in my absence, I laugh yet I fall into that same abyss beneath a vault of sky, so runs the current of  absolution, the pornography of self, scattered flowers in the gutter, in the pissoir of night, to dance in barren circles as the cleft sun rises, licking the cold steel of the blade, fading from one death to the next, breaking upon the rocks of fruition, nothing more than stone etched without purpose, erased, slashed out…

--Michael Mc Aloran was Belfast born, (1976). His work has appeared/ is forthcoming in various print and online zines, including Carcinogenic Poetry, Sex & Murder Magazine, Horror, Sleaze & Trash, The Medulla Review, Media Virus, In Between Altered States, Graffiti Kolkata, Prothomoto, Tehlia, Pratishedhak, Negative Suck, Danse Macabre, The Stray Branch, Counterexample Poetics, Heavy Bear, etc. In the past year he has authored seven chapbooks, including 'The Gathered Bones', (Calliope Nerve Media), 'The Black Vault', (Calliope Nerve Media), 'Debris', (Erbacce-Press), 'Final Fragments', (Calliope Nerve Media), & 'The Death-Streaked Air' (Virgogray Press-forthcoming).

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