Featured art by L.H. Grey
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Mondkopf “Here Comes The Whispers”
Seeing
Insipid darkness
That is all I discern
A black velvet corset swaddling ungrateful flesh
Constricting breath before it can be liberated
A curdling girdle of creeping despair
Its truth or dare I care not entertain
Smelling
Pungent
Pervasive as it creeps my flared nostrils with its sterile funk
This aseptic grunge
Very cruelest of all contradictions
Vapors hanging like slaughterhouse marrow
The most unwelcome smelling salts
Food for nothing else than the most rancid of thoughts
Tasting
Gullet bulging with bile
Acrimonious sludge that festers
This thick slick of tantric terror congeals in my airways
Pulverizing the very pulp of me from its viewless room
Gagging
Choking
Each retch it’s provoking
Makes this lecherous lagging a most ill-advised token
Hearing
Ungodly sonata as he scrubs
A discordant symphony of flayed husk and chipped bone
Uncanny precision to each jagged incision
Beating hearts awaiting excision
Cleaved to retrieve this precious cargo
It retreats with every beat
Soon to become the deadest of meat
Feeling
The very pinch of resignation
Primed for indignation
Zero elation
Death shall grant no peace in its release
Only the stubborn stain of sorrow
This is my realization
Seeing
The recently embalmed
Hollowed shells
Carved of all human signature
Hunks of shorn muscle litter my unfavorable vista
And manacles
The most callous of shackles
Smelling
Formaldehyde
This compound for fracture
Bubbles in its vial
Patiently awaiting the crack of its seal
Not long now
Soon it shall mingle
Tasting
Regimented rows of teeth as they snap
Never so mildly
Decisive
Divisive of flesh and of bone
Every groan as he pries with this harvester of scythes
Makes me choke
On the bitter pill of my imminent retirement
Hearing
The calm in his practice
Unhurried
Methodical to a tee
Leather apron flecked with my coulis
Coolly going about his vile work
As though peeling an onion
Tears frozen now
Feeling
The life ebb away
Like spent leaves in fall
Autumn chill all around me
An embrace of finality
Draining
Last light fading
Serenading me to sleep
Through serrated lullaby
The Ripper
Paces
And with one final glance of his pocket timepiece
Calls it
Richard Charles Stevens
Keeper of The Crimson Quill
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I heard this with Richard stood at the side of the river Thames here in London and we were both, for different reasons, left speechless. A beautiful, tender and very real expression of love. Really thrilled you released a video too!! Excellent stuff.