Night Games

Ellen Rogers
Ellen Rogers

Maybe it’s the answer but sleep
I feel is out of the question
As your skin crackles with electricity
Surging through the nerve endings
Generating a force field that shocks
When our skin and flesh intersect
I know you want to play once again
Those night games in earnest
My wanton snake eyed charmer
Dancing only to the best tunes
Sinuously moving to a rhythm
Hypnotically vicious as a wet dream
Compulsive as the masturbator’s motion
As compelling as a large scale disaster
We don’t dare pause to consider
That our impulsive night games
Are careering right out of control
Skidding towards the concrete barrier
Even if we did do you doubt
That we would press down hard
Accelerating loosening seatbelts
Elatedly bracing for the impact
Of the ultimate folie a deux
A drastic re-configuration of identity
But come there are so many more
Games we could play in the darkness
I see you staring back at me in the bar
We are strangers meeting for the first time
That illicit thrill a depth charge to the core
I know of a hotel around the corner
A fine and private place I’m assured
Once alone together I promise
To do you so good to do you so right
Make you experience the exquisite
Head fucking psycho-drama of attraction
Once again this time with renewed emotion
Believe me I am never more serious
Than when I am playing night games

Forever 3:33AM Eternal

Eugena Loli
Eugena Loli

It’s that time of the night
Forever 3:33AM eternal
The hour when the wolf howls
At the big bitch in the sky
The untouchable mistress, unloving
Moon, mother of archaic memories
Baying for blood to nourish the brood
Of nocturnal predators, night creatures,
Witches familiars, demons spawn,
Furious hordes, insatiable cubi,
All the swarming hosts of darkness.

I think that….
We really need…
We got to have us some…
But we can’t get no….
Sleep…

So sleepless
We cackle and fizz:
For a split second
The view is expansive
We can see everything
Future past far
Wide near narrowing
Until it contracts to a vanishing
Still point that finally disappears
Into the oh-so sleazy
Right here-now nowhere
The forever 3:33AM eternal.

The clocks have stopped,
The rest of the world
Is no longer in motion;
Yet you slowly approach,
Rosy red glowing pale-bright
Translucent, tinged with the electric blue
Of raw sex, resonating with the sadness
Of a stone cold seductress
Towards my slouched figure:
You will make a heathen of me
Worshipping in the dead of night
Raised ravished razed by the mystery
Of your magic as I rip through
Your diaphanous veils one by one
All the while praying to you
That it remains
Forever 3:33AM eternal.

Death’s Discoteca

 

Clovis-Trouille-Mon-Tombeau
Clovis-Trouille-Mon-Tombeau

 

Soulless automaton,
pallid vampire,
with your amphetamine blush,
ceaseless opiated caresses
if only looks could melt.
Last of the gravers,
nodding away
at death’s discoteca
do you miss
that old morbid élan,
with real live girls,
packets of gear,
being the man,
making them wait?
You ain’t who you
used to be anymore,
hollowed out by the night,
spooked by a thousand insomnias,
an uncertain spectre
at the feast of the auto-cannibals:
paying the heavenly revenue service
the vig for deceiving syntax;
now every lying word turns to ash
within your pitted and parched mouth,
and every cruel intention,
conning misdirection
is now a stone within
your bloated stomach.
Pallid vampire,
soulless automaton,
time to open the curtains
and let the sunshine flood in.