Sibling Symbiont, Ritual Of Philomel, The Pattern
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Sibling Symbiont


I stand alone inside her,
A quiet Testimony of my true,
Shapeless disposition.
A form ever ascending to meet
The accomplishments of merciless failure.

This is the ritual-
The disappointment
Of absolute reality,
Replaying forever,
The pain of it’s genesis:

Warm pockets of flesh,
Catch in fishhook teeth.
The blood running out,
Along fingers of bodiless arms.
Dripped onto the wet, smooth,
Expanse of my face;
Trekked down the ridge of my eyes-
Trailing along my nose,
To pool in the crest of my lips.

Hot water streaking
A mirrored surface-
The torment of memory;
Pain of realization.
Repulsive reaction,
The body folds to imitate.
Reflection shattered-

So I rise, on stilted hands,
An awkward torso, jolted,
Out of hesitation.
Stumbling, stuttering,
Through this familiar storm-
As my rain smears
Her simple reflection,
And my palms pad our blood,
Into the petals of her eyes.
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Ritual Of Philomel


The woman’s chair is empty-
In the house, she is nowhere to be found.
She has succeeded, by somber steps,
In a patient procession-
To the edge of a sulfur stream.
There she is knelt, amid acetylene-
Fervent fingers cup flame,
To dispel the frozen wound.

She is the virgin, rest upon the crescent moon-
Her figure draped, in white, and blue,
But frostbit, on a tongue of bone;
Where space positions to consume.

What unfathomed rift would dilate,
Situate to resume, such violent absolution?
What primal drive, transfixed her mind;
(An ancient echo refrains it’s subtle rhyme)?
Could I but flush that wellhead,
With water of a gentler kind;
Could I but silence the hound,
Who’s raving stimulates her cries?
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The Pattern

And feel as if I’d mounted on my hands and knees


We are making love:
You are a paraplegic
I hover over- and you
Do not touch me.

I am bent, a necrophiliac;
I kiss you, pretend you kiss me back.
Pretend your body is still warm,
Still animate- Intimate.

You fold under every gesture,
Move into every position
I desire.
I linger at your hemisphere,
Just below the soft swell of belly.

I drink of your body-
You do not reciprocate.

I am as gentle as
I am as violent as

I am as thorough as an ant
Assembling your mounds.
Mapping the tunnels of
Your rhapsody.

I make every effort
To exhaust you,
To drive you to reach out.
To touch me,
I wait for you to desire me.

You wait for me to come again,
Knowing that I am weak-
eventually I will