Sunday, October 3, 2010

Untitled #26

Untitled #26-

…This hearse tongue, the stone eye and the bitter seeds of death, moth of my desire circling as I die, where the flame has spoken from bloodless words, peeling back the skin and flesh from the bones here and after my laughter, circling only un-known, dressed in a shroud of night’s breathing, the wings beat in my skull a violent fever of disease, drugged, spent, head of bile-soaked sands, the dusts raise from the floorboards, I am dreaming of the silver noose that will be the fist of my ejaculations, the flesh a whip snap cracking of spinal smiles, rib-caged sky do you laugh as I laugh?, where the guillotine traces across my lips and the abattoir breath inhaled blooms in the me the orchids of death, here and forever after, I am that reek which I exhale, the insects rest upon the fly-paper that lines these breathing walls, pulsing, finalized, I observe with the salient grin of death, I am death, I am a child of the scarred flesh, only the ocean acknowledges my scarlet dreams, shifting from one room to the next, shifting so violently that I loose myself, I shift through transparent walls, paint and shit and bone and blood and hair and the ejaculate and piss of my machine mixed in ceremony, as if it could be, see how they run, see how my teeth glint in the dark, somehow, as if to know, I laugh as I die all over and again, with or without violence, I can only laugh, where now my fucking bones do you not offer the solace of breathing, a morphine mask would suffice, my lover, the singular light-bulb swings, and in the machinations and emasculations of the flesh, I am speechless, hence again the recourse to the laughter of the dead or the silence, why the insects tonight, I forget that I am death, I forget that I already know, the chemicals have erased me, eradicated the filth, the spent sun has collapsed into the death of air, much like in sequence with the thankless silence, I am rot, my skies lick the dust of my fading flesh, here I know, knowing that the blade will smear my smiles, for all time, for all of my timelessness, smeared like the smile of some severe clown, dragging a collective of children’s skulls, whistling Dixie, some death, close the wound, the wound cannot be bound for it is for all time, like a confessor’s tongue, the animals braying hate back into their pestilenced flesh, the wretched light, somehow, where, when the day is done, my arbitrary, my dead hands silently…


--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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