Of Songs and Sirens

Existence screams out,
the void which is not.
An echo, to silence, replies,
"You are wrong."
He totally denies
his removal from God
and says he is closer to Him.
Awareness is more grand
than the twisted place
between one and zero.
Are there infinite riches
or tombstones for muses?
A boy crowned with stag's horns
may be tamed with psychic machines --
a cylindrical brass helmet donned
pieces him back together again.
He descends into singularity.
A tiny pinprick, a splinter
of light, to flash once,
then disappear eternally.

Alzabo Suppertime

They came by ones and twos and threes
to feed on the brains of a family:
a chunk out of Grandma,
a nibble on Timmy.
The whole household will speak gorgeously;
little fragments of Mom's voice
emanate from razor-toothed mouths
set in great big shaggy white heads
that whirl with fragments of souls with no choice.
Fodder for beasts, they bled.
The ursine aliens' eyes glowed red.

The Sacrifice

Dive headlong into magma-red rage.
Rock gently; a fat Jew body
floats in the Dead Sea,
big as a house, in black
knickers, black brassiere,
spitting fire as she goes.
Oh Bubbe, steal my dream
as Marines phase back
into alignment.
Rip me to shreds
with bullets for stray
thoughts I've entertained.