The Reverend is Sick!




Burn my bones, Fever!

Keep burning till the charcoal

turns to diamonds in your fires.

Lick my broiling brow

till sweat

like little pearls

comes tearing down my face.

Boil my brain

in the stockpot skull,

Old Cauliflower on a stalk.

Stick bruised grapes for eyes

on toothpick stems

stuck fast to the swollen bulb.


like a desert breeze sweeping

through fanged and desolate ranges,

the burning breathe bursts between

the cracked and peeling lips.


Tumescent glands burrow blindly

beneath the muscle

like tics/ like

monstrous new organs they

pulse and stretch

and struggle to speak,

they sing

strange songs,

that lull me to sleep,

in a babble of vegetable tongues.



The Reverend is feeling too seedy to do a review this week, but stay tuned there’s some good ones coming up.



~ by reverendhellfire on October 31, 2010.

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