This Feast

The feast of this life lay before me. This feast immoral,  banquet unlimited, I eat like mad. I yell to live in excess of life. Gorge on apples, on nectar, eat from the banquet, thanksgiving of Earth.

Pass the bread, I feast on my wife like mad madness,  I drive deep and suck the sap dry, squeeze the fruit above my head and squeeze the last drop to tongue.

The world has no mercy, so in my hunger I show none back. Relentless creator of a merciless world gone mad, I eat to crumble your world.


It's 6am, beautiful Holly and the kids are in bed. I'm hungry for this time of day, when the tip of sun rises like the mad fruit of the world, when the first light dawns on your eyes, and the first bird sings, I hunger in wait for light.

Drink from the well of sugar, absurdity, tequila-Jesus-paralysis. At 6am I'm hungry for Holly's thighs. My enraptured woman of all my bliss, she the grail, she the fountain of no end.

Enjoy love, make life, live in full bloom, part the sea of nectar, dance with the seven winds, create an opal love of star flower and amethyst, move the earth of savory flesh, move in the perfumed darkness, body surfer, shake the primal rhythm.

Choose color, shun darkness, and push the abyss over itself, it has no influence, power deadened by a chosen life, a choice to run despite the nails on the ground, a choice to take flight despite the nails through your wrist and hole in your heart.

There is one grail, the sun of this morning I choose. My breath is the only prayer I need, my insatiable appetite for my wife, my endless hands to carry my children through fire. I walk in my yard this morning, my feet cold from from dew, the air thick and cold, winter in the nearness of days to come, and I burst with the light of a sun in rage.  

I create my world, its shape the shape of my rage, my rage the light of the world, the sun, the face of beautiful Holly rising, rising and ruling my world. I dip my hands in cinnamon powder, cup her breast, and kill this half-life, make it new, make it whole.

Toast, roll in the leaves, roll in the sea, break the legs of your bed by shear force of joy. I can't wait for her, as I write this I wait for her, I make my coffee and wait for her, my whole life in wait for her, for her to come down the dark hallway of morning, clothes tight to the curves of my world. My wine I toast the life she gives, I toast the grail to her body, her lust, the wonders of this life, my children the energy of seed.

No doubt my girl will read this ask what the hell I wrote that for, why didn't you let me read it first, who cares, what hell was that....?

It's just me fucking the nothingness...it's me adding color to my morning, which is a cloudy drab, with air alive, an Autumn day in which I rose early to type to the world and could think of nothing but you, my family, the feast this life has lain before me...I didn't have much to say when I woke, but I felt so damn much I just spilled myself a big mess...A mess with stains I refuse to clean...The mess of a Chirst of fire, Messiah of a world in Hell