Something awful in me rises
and with words constructs dark worlds.
My fingers front perversion in
the pieces that unfurl.
Something awful in me rises
with exhilarating zeal
it illuminates the underside
of living in the world.
Something awful in me rises
when a violent death is met
by a character the devil gives
infernos to repent
Something awful in me rises
when a whore’s the lullaby
that you whisper to your lover
underneath a starry sky.
Something awful in me rises
spilling into words on page.
Sartre led me to Bukowski
at such a tender age.
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