I gather flowers from the fields
that smell like clumps of rotted weeds;
they crumble in my hands and fall
upon the dirty floor.
Beware the Freaklie bird my son,
the beak that bites, the breath that stinks,
Our Dark Mother now returns
while the fires of Beltane burn.
when a woman looks at me
to say she’s doing it for free
I’ve seen empty sockets where
both her eyes should be.
To exploit this incredibly talented artist. If you don’t know her work, you are either blind, pretentious, stupid, judgemental or not a member here! I feel like an idiot for not doing this be…
through a blizzard all men dream
the world is not a winding stream
the world is not an ordered house
it doesn’t pay to tell
With wings these ragged sluts
cover their foetid cuts,
and their obnoxious guts
are only skin and bone.