Where have all the Amazons gone?
Down what modern streets does the one-breasted Penthesilea lurk?
Where are the people that live like volcanos?
I'd sooner lose my own heart's blood than his,
I will not sleep nor rest till from the airs,
Like some rare, bright-hued bird, I've made him plummet
Down to my feet; but once he lies before me,
Prostrate, with splayed, disabled wings, oh maidens
And not a mote of crimson dust displaced,
Then, only then, may all the blessed souls
Descend to join us in our victory rites,
Homeward we'll turn our jubilant procession,
Then I'll be Queen of the Feast of Roses for you!
Now come!
To love things like a boxer loves them, each feeling a flurry of bloodying bruising punches, love like a cracked tooth and blood spat on the floor.
Kathy's Pirate Girls taking sail with Burroughs' Wild Boys into the Cities of the Red Night..
two girls lost on a dead man's chest
doing what they like to best;
pecking at unknown alphabets,
alphabets that lead to gold
across seas made up of stars,
dreams glittering under dead me's bones.
ten filthy girls on a dead man's chest
doing what they like to best,
girls who spit right up your ass,
girls who'll take all that you own,
knife you in your turned-up breasts
The Passion Play is over and done with, only vestigial elements remain, like emotional ruins in a glossy post-modern ironic grey cityscape.
The sitcom is here - enjoy your laugh track.
I'm going to go fill some tomatos with fireworks and throw them at my television set.
My warrior woman. My Valkyrie. You'll always be mine, always and never. Never. The Fire, baby. It'll burn us both. It'll kill us both. there's no place in this world for our kind of fire. Always and never. If I have to die for you tonight, I will.
Screw the rest - give me the agony and the ecstasy.
Down what modern streets does the one-breasted Penthesilea lurk?
Where are the people that live like volcanos?
I'd sooner lose my own heart's blood than his,
I will not sleep nor rest till from the airs,
Like some rare, bright-hued bird, I've made him plummet
Down to my feet; but once he lies before me,
Prostrate, with splayed, disabled wings, oh maidens
And not a mote of crimson dust displaced,
Then, only then, may all the blessed souls
Descend to join us in our victory rites,
Homeward we'll turn our jubilant procession,
Then I'll be Queen of the Feast of Roses for you!
Now come!
To love things like a boxer loves them, each feeling a flurry of bloodying bruising punches, love like a cracked tooth and blood spat on the floor.
Kathy's Pirate Girls taking sail with Burroughs' Wild Boys into the Cities of the Red Night..
two girls lost on a dead man's chest
doing what they like to best;
pecking at unknown alphabets,
alphabets that lead to gold
across seas made up of stars,
dreams glittering under dead me's bones.
ten filthy girls on a dead man's chest
doing what they like to best,
girls who spit right up your ass,
girls who'll take all that you own,
knife you in your turned-up breasts
The Passion Play is over and done with, only vestigial elements remain, like emotional ruins in a glossy post-modern ironic grey cityscape.
The sitcom is here - enjoy your laugh track.
I'm going to go fill some tomatos with fireworks and throw them at my television set.
My warrior woman. My Valkyrie. You'll always be mine, always and never. Never. The Fire, baby. It'll burn us both. It'll kill us both. there's no place in this world for our kind of fire. Always and never. If I have to die for you tonight, I will.
Screw the rest - give me the agony and the ecstasy.
VIEW 21 of 21 COMMENTS
I'm working on a production of Romeo and Juliet now. It's volunteer as usual. As for paying work... still looking.