The Holy Family

The Holy Family

(A mirror of my family, now in Spirit form on the other side)

Of my brother Vinton, taken at birth
resulting in the near toxic death of my mother
saved by The Grace of The Holy Family

Of my father
whom the Holy Family visited in vision
on the last day he was fully present
before drifting between the worlds right up to his death

Of my mother, 957 days after my father
with my last words to her
“If the Lord calls, go. Daddy and Vinton and Mother Mary are waiting for you.”
as she drifted from her sleep into eternal rest

The Holy Family
Intimate and personal
in my interior world
mother, father, son
waiting for us who remain in this world
patient and praying daily to The Loving Holy Family



a constance priest
sifting through
ambient accordion photo books

ident of scar and lopside
leather mogul, sedate daughter

intermitted favours of noughtlight
passing with his constance blessing

he who knows the savage floorplans
he who withstands

this constance priest
pouches full of faint detract seeds

mezzanine pulpit, shower of fanatic lashings
offered in kind

last crime at sinai threshold
last crime in tempest

constance priest
lowering of self into foxhole
into manhunt

collection of crosses from slender necks
sweet muffled prayers

#99tespus #irvingpaulpereira

orchestrations of random self nodes from an exotic mirror fossil


oil of my youth
of the sulphate self
like a mongrel
or hybrid theosophy
of meat suit made by
chronos and zephyr
who were once children of the void
of crawling chaos

osmosis of cell
of gehenna prime
senses spawned by secret insects
blameless and clawed
angel of napalm and nibiru

ale of my forefathers
strong, undercurrent of spices
of sprinkled cyanide
sodium lights
saccharine touchstones

old of my kind
of synchronised self
like a monad
or halcyon hauntology
of flesh core made by
hades and haniel
who were once children of the crown
of cryogenic constants
#poem #poetry #irvingpaulpereira


what you saw
and what you think you saw

the dragon in mid-flight freeze framed
the fisherman hung from tail
bait-less silver hook in air
great crimson beast
silent like a deaf dream

between the earth
and what was unearthed

excavated worship ground
red Russian lantern rising
jewelry box figure turning
plastic flesh eroded by time
iconic patron dirtied by soil
trampled by weight of human wandering

but the song of the saint
still plays on
despite dead batteries
her spirit singing
like a living library
a litany of psalms

between what you heard
and what you think you heard

#poetry #poem #irvingpaulpereira

medicine, as a sign of compound sex tapes 

young yellow pill
on her side
also flat on grey plains
hidden in plain sight
in pockets
on tour bus

a complicated tincture of numbers calculated in cell
one forgets to call the wheel watcher
alternate roads
bus waits opposite stations
opposite junglism
opposite drug dealing hot spots

where young yellow pill
half naked in sour light
pose with dry fingers
packs of mineral water cups
awkward and accommodating

cut sizes of maps
follow international paper guidelines
section off buildings and fuck closets
track the track marks

we dress the pharmacist with red emblems
we dress in pharmacology
we listen to chemtrails
erecting gauntlets, ecstasy
embellishments on virgin war paths

we sit where we may on the bus
never really leaving
aware of the tirade of wheel watchers
who check our call lists
reprimanding absent mindedness

we pray
that the young yellow pill
doesn’t turn into powder

#poetry, #poem, #writing
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I think, in part, it’s the hunger



highway / tour bus
rogue cell phone signal
a clear, aural hallucination
hunted by sick voice speaking of mother
past the border
through ghost static land line alarm
broadcast level peaking, piercing holocaust heaven
infection from the mansion, spreading to streets
soot poisoned sidewalks, sewerage heat

school kids locked in a den of predators
something is loosed and blind in poltergeist halls
sniffing out glands and urine stench skirts
phone batt failing
torch light dying
closed door cubicle
festering abortion nest

halls unlit for decades, abusive cane stroking teeming darkness
chalk and dusters in mouths
nails on the blackboard quoting blood types
malevolent monochrome sight and

only noise keeps terror at bay
jaded crystal chalices clinking against chipped champagne glasses
bent nails rusted by haemoglobin, swirling in toxic stainless steel
grating, friction, charring screeching
keep the noise coming
or our breaths will be heard

#writing, #poetry, #irvingpaulpereira
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unexpecting- c

collecting crystalline tears
embedded in shoulder / chest
like shrapnel
mutterings of a floodgate
money pumped down throat to wet vagina (failed)
“don’t touch me.”
daggers dance in mindscape
pinning down young shaped limbs
disorganised recollection
chameleon like face, dazed, falling
digits dialed in
“we count the number of ways we have lost her”
divergent manoeuvres in the dead night
“we bring her to the safe place”
we let the youngling go
(one reveals the calling card”
she will follow the man with the lantern
she will follow the man with the key
#writing #poetry #poem #irvingpaulpereira

processions of erasure


have a small, adolescent fever
snail like in the catacombs

a cluster of impossible white fashions
swimming through red radar
ghost riding lower frequencies
hardly hearing in carbon walls

the fire woman
holds on to forehead
downward streaming radiation
building an edifice

parts of the chromosome in soil
bone fragments among the gorgeous flora
vines, fetish knots, fish nets
our night terror mutterings recorded for ceremony

a sprawling elder mirror
blotched sectors over genitalia
dioxide breathing, the wiping out of futures
television dinners



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the centrifugal hive X


about to cross death-hold
burrowing reaper worm
wound up veins
south bound to scion house

sacra sin

experienced purgation
paladin point
hounds, scouring, victim gland secretion


mothers’ flesh to daughters’ crown
syllabic nymphs
succubi picking fruits in the dark
severe atmospheres of sleep

super-filial deities
synchronous manœuvres

father-spawn in the drowning sea
facial recognition failure
valiant outcasts thriving on debris at dawn
a fictional stroke of creation
a fractional birth on ectomorphic planes

#writing, #poetry, #poem, #irvingpaulpereira
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