The Gospel of Flies

I am proud to announce the publication of my first American chapbook, The Gospel of Flies

A Sample poem:

Dried Leather

None of us ever show our faces.
The short, fattish husband sprawled on the red couch,
hair greasy, long and smelling of civet.

His smooth, broad shoulders, strong nose,
split blue boxers airing blond hairs, furred testicles.

Sometimes there is slippage.
A man on the TV falls on the bloody mat,
shouts at the referee while the victor struts
and pulls on the branded shirt he sold the fight for.

My husband forgets that I am watching.
He rears up, thumps a pectoral.
Himself in that instant,
a leather-clad ring-giver, master of hoards,
who tore the blood-grimed claw from Grendel
and died long ago in the bowels of the mountain.

I see you as you are then, Matthew.

The smoke you leave like scent behind you,
the rage, the battle cry of a man who knows
that someday soon his death is coming,

who fucks me spread-leg naked
in the ashes of a fire,
who drinks from my cunt
the golden remnants of honey
the faint stream of blood.

When I turn my thick furred neck
to grip your nape with sharp dog-teeth,
nip the sour skin of your scrotum,
my torn nails leaving red trails,
what do you see?

Fenrir, the dark wolf,
a deaths-head above breasts
riding ribs that jut hard enough for wounding?

This is the face that will come for you
when your world has stopped turning.
The hands that will drag you
from the gap in the mountain.
The throat that will howl
when your body’s past fucking,
cold as the earth.

 

GofF Cover 8$, Avalible HERE

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