Accumulation of Frogs

That night
In the road to Hades,
We fought with
A plague of frogs.

Spilling out
In all direction;
Motioning the sky
To start fire.

And it spilled thunder,
It spilled rain,
And like lightning;
A miracle.

Dust dissolved
From my eyes;
And hurt bent
Its broken back.

Every name I ever thought
Could devour my still beating heart;

And salmonella choked me;
But didn’t sting.

Moistened With Phlegm

If you sneeze,
Let the parabola know.

So if you can,
Swat away chinese lanterns;
And fly your plane
Into the pool of death,
That lake of self-destruct;

But come out clean.

Miasma; my doubt,
My railing indecency,
Whose magnanimous cut-throat
Takes care of my inebriation.

I hurt
The tower of my enemy;
And left the bodies
To dry and dehydrate into

A curse and a swear.


From Freud to Narcissus;
All levels of gold, frankincense, and myrrh,
Will wait.

As the coming age
Revokes our substructures,
Penetrating tried and tested algorithm;
With its own hydrogen peroxide.

My interpreted poetry
Regains a sort of wisdom,
Notwithstanding an echo
Of calcification.

Born old, like Merlin;
Waiting and wading
Through insinuation and song;

To grow before death,
And sink into
The womb.