– #excerpt #DayVuHidesUsFromSleep

moreau dreams
of shared visions
the babylonian body
stretching in half light
sweat on golden chains
serpent hair, cascading
desert scorched skin
wrapped in fine silk
bought for and killed for
scarlet and perfumed
our naked queen
poised, feline
precious and silent

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

but see, the trains are running, albeit, empty

cold black sheen
tuxedo night of corp talk
in meeting room of marriage

one will draw wife to be
another, follow through with cam
public relations discourse
ceremony timed video stills

this hollow heart
this power vacuum

wife is vacant in the cave of gut

a call comes in to warn
of black wave rising
ten storied cold black doom of glitter night

tsunami hits

the glass walls crack
“if the reaper comes, be swift with the takings”
the windowless door won’t stave off flood

one dials hospital (where mother sleeps)
mother calls from the black out house
“something sits on the chest of uncle”

there is an attic
there is accusation paranoia

a family car

mangled amalgam of ruined roofs
children music
extrusion pipes
deluge crushing form
bodies rushed
gone with passing tide

cold black starless nocturne

one runs in scientific field
lab coats scorching
scourge in the air, a blue fire
swarming gas, devourer of flesh
eye level cloud toxin
avoid nuclear breath contact
the city, full of armageddon
#poety #poem #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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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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we make contact in an elevator, ebony tar walls, sunset light captured in fission glassware (loading bay dimensions)

she can see through synthetic skin and fabric, unhidden salient organs. I avoid my own nakedness.
(mating dance activated)

we will be bed fed, turning like anti-gravity koi with filament arms embracing.
(elevator morphs into hotel room.)

touch her face, her flesh
(rubberised, moulding, falsified accents) unwilling to break through thin layers of make up

we will make out, kissing clones of who we were


the back of minds study airfields, tombstones of fire or holographic flags flying, (something foreign descending from skies, nucleus defying, infiltration)

we will be extracted from each others’ histories, sent out by opposing missions, into red atmospheres, out as advancement (turning into wasteland failure )

love ends with smoke and current

years later i serve bucolic church
she appears as a string of numbers in a phone, then in the flesh before medication time
she pulls me away to the canal, behind the war monument wall

“you were always there when i heeded help”
(luring) there are missing speech patterns in my calculations

the people have eaten the body of the king but i have not
(she has robbed me of time, of parents, of watching the targets, front of pew)

there’s no history in her i recall loving
a stigmata / tabula rasa /
all child-ling and empty (a distraction)

under deep cover, my mission isn’t over, but here she is, asking for therapy as my mark vanishes among the servient


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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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rhea’s stance of oblation


litter of spine
a mine shaft of ladders
propping up perplexing noise and turmeric
in the long coat of common tzars
on the tongues of red gated harlots

a chest full of sedation
drawers, on occasion, full of mist and spleen and bow
a sore throne
salted ligaments alerted to prairies
time stones
cyanide party dolls

we must make due, apostasies
we must show drowsiness her crimes
we must dress her in the garb of evictions

all but embarkment
all being fair and prequel
like long lashes from the chutes
like the fortunes of oddities
tube fed
grasping at the magnitude of thread and sutures

#writing #poetry #patreoncreator #patreon #irvinpaulpereira
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