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chris brownsword

chris brownsword. born sheffield, united kingdom.



green neon sign
of the pharmacy store
reflected, flashing
in the night bus window
melancholy star reflected
in a muddy roadside puddle
crushed packet of cigarettes
my only memory of wealth
it's true what they say
steel city lights flicker sometimes



a cosmos dribbles down her thighs
my tongue becomes a pessary
she whispers "murder" in haunted sleep
leaving a mascara trail along the pillowcase
another vulture perches on the windowledge
i bleed out a tundra in remorse
smear dreams with carrion
her heart is an ossuary
i have been damned a place in hell
deathshead weeping on the wall
cosmos dribbles down my chin onto satin white sheets
kiss the dead if they arrive before me.



barefoot we dance through this bayou of broken streetlights and shame
the foggy murk of 4a.m paths not yet impregnated by dawns fiery cock
as we fall like benzedrine stars beneath a fading september moon
accusing manifest destiny for the deflowerment of beauty

we devour the tongue of buffalo to scream their ghostly rage
smoke the embers of night and exhale a vermillion day
in a harem lies a woman weeping for the loss of innocense
please smear the ash of our bones into wilderness fields

we carved love letters and poetry into madhouse walls
dreamed of hara-kiri and the ancient words of Ryokan.
a curse upon the government, system and the jailers
a hex around the lungs of factorys which enslaved us
with hope wrapped in khadder and the crest of benedict skies
we sing a solemn requiem to the memory of childhood days.



the hospital will not dose us any longer
the wards have no beds anymore
the prison bars cut the sun into shards
i laughed loud as a ghost at its own funeral.



her eyes are filled with emeralds as she turns to say
"how much do you own? how much are you worth?"
to which i reply with sly curators smile
"less than the belt which crowns your sweet waist".

she smiles and her teeth resemble gravestones
engraved with the cruelsest of stars.
i rub warm semen into each crevice of my tomb
and flowers stand phallic like knives.
she weeps a funeral parade from eyes of pure azure
where ships have sailed and crashed into the black rock of her heart.
i crawl alone and afraid through the ossuarys of heaven
each breath i take feels like a thousand years in hell.



O but for last kiss of bountiful treachery
where you bite my tongue and let the treason flow into your mouth
where you tempt my neck with the touch of hemp
where you squeeze me tight with grip of broken bottle glass

O but for one last voyage into arson
a sacrement to the gods below, gesture of wayward sabaism
O but for one last lustful supplication
wrenched from the throats of dying songbirds.


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