What fragile creatures are we,

To touch the face of immortality

Is but a dream.

In supple costumes we dance

To the tune of our own romance.

We walk with giants in our boots;

Walking with stilted legs that stretch

Wide the ego we hate to lose.

With a murderous heart and mind

We trade our souls to wash out

The bitter taste of time

Until we can’t taste anymore.

What fragile creatures are we,

To touch the face of immortality

Is but a dream.

What shield do we have but pride

To keep the world outside?

Cradling the broken shell

We fight the ever-biting tide;

Hoping to preserve ourselves.

And so the hourglass grows thin;

Our bones dragging skin.

Sowing the lines of our vanity,

Hoping to taste a little bit more.


Crippled (Eye)

your crippled (eye) only sees

what it can…not

like a vampire that slips by

the looking glass undisturbed


you are no more than a

whisp-er for you

have forgotten

your own voice

A slave to your mouse-

trapped mind

a fool charmed and slighted

by his own dirty tricks

though you slip through the puddles

of your mind

there need not be such suff’ring

beneath the muck-wreathed face

stirs a fire amidst the clay

let me be the one to

open up

the pale petals

of your fragile heart

sun-kissed your

dew-dropped lips

taste its warmth

you are an ivory ocean




two mighty rivers


supple slopes tender-

ly spilling into lush valleys

fertile green

and I meet you

on that great horizon

where dawn breaks

the furtive sky

Upon the Throne of Piety

For centuries I have seen the power of man

Rise and fall, all in the name of their God.

Though they stand on clay feet I will always remain.

Built upon the ashes of traitors and saints,

High and resplendent; A monument baptized

By the blood of man in the name of Christ.

My bowels are filled with the malodorous stench

Of incense and decay.  The angels’ mellifluous voices

Fill my cavernous lungs with the lamentations of their martyred king.

My ears fill with insidious lies that flock

Under the guise of a holi(nest)

My domed face points to the sky like a swollen breast

Towering above the sordid streets I smell

The stink of Sodom cling to the city

Like a harlot to her Priapus.

The sinners writhe in their shame like worms

Uprooted from the warmth of the earth.

As they open their ugly mouths eagerly

Awaiting to taste the milk of absolution.

They ask God to forgive their transgressions

And I smell the fear that slithers down their brows

Hoping to quench the horrid flames that lick their blistered feet.

Seated upon a gilded throne of piety

I hear God’s pitiless laughter resound.



By: Spencer DiSparti


You are not the goddess

I thought i knew; nor the huntress

Of the moon.


Your youthful face now stained

And scarred by the pain

Of what you really are.


Straying into that solemn night

I saw a sadness come to light;

A fairness shone through the veil,

A hidden beauty soon revealed.


And in the white-wing’d dawn

I spread across the sky,

Cupping your silver breast, long-

Ing to carress your star-lit eye.


On a bed of clouds displayed,

Like a tender flower, you lay;

A crescent smile soured.


As the dim light reflected;

Your cold eyes rejected

The ardor within my soul.


And in our star-crossed gaze

I saw in you the dream decay

Before our eyes could save

Their virtue.



By: S. DiSparti


Through listless eyes I stare

Off into the distance

My thin-stitched lips I wear

Curled in amusement

Indifferent to the world’s cares


A silent god displayed

Upon a splintered cross

The brilliant sun ablaze

Beats against my brow of straw

Amidst the fields burning

I wear a flaming crown

A sacrificed son returning


I wear this ugly mask estranged

from every virgin heart that nears

A face that mocks my lonely days

A face that every crow will fear


By: Erik Masson

Why am I so afraid to say yes or no?

Why do I deny my own self-worth?

Instead I quiet at the slightest tone

Of judgement.

Slave to the lashings of a silver tongue.

My skin has been peeled, raw to the bone

Ev’ry taunt or jeer burns like acid onto my flesh.

I would stand up if I knew how to walk.

Why can’t I just tell the world to fuck off?!


My blood is a running fountain that knows no rest

Wincing at the pain of every little paper cut.

A bitter sliver dug into my finger

Letting the wound fester

Into a stake that plunges deep into my sour heart!

And I hear the harrowing screams echo

Within these fragile walls,

My house threatening to fall.

I wait for the sound of glass to break,

But soon the house grows still

And the only thing I hear is the long,

Ragged breath of defeat resound…