Descension=

Descending beyond mention...

Descent off the grid;

Comes up a lot in the Zodiac as a sign

That's on the slide...

Are you descending?...

Are you decent?...

Do you live in your world day to day without pants,

Or do you dive into your psychic maelstrom from time

To time to balance the ongoing chaos of what's outside,

And avoid a repeat fracas?...

I see descension as a state of action

Where we face our depth

and future friction

With vigor and a stalwart sense of attention...

...Coming to terms with what's been questioned,

And what is yet to be...

Descension+Ingestion+Invested Efforts equals

Wrenching myself out of the gutter and

Discerning what's on tap...

...There are so many odd shaped tasties that are waiting in my lap

And hanging plump upon the drooping network of criss-cross branches!...

To descend is to not only to slough off the table when

A hand has brushed your fruit jelly preserves,

But also to elevate to an elated state,

because if:

“As above, so below; as below, so above”– The Kybalion

Is to be believed then that this upward descent

Cascades and climaxes like a spent glass of water

Exploding mid-air for no one but the thorough-fair,

And much less the common man...

Hard to see it if you can, and when you blink

The whole plan shrinks and is immediately swallowed up...

Descension is a cool glass of promise,

Maybe now or maybe never...

Time to drop into the spot-lit void,

And vanish off the written stage.

©

Bunny Villaire

6/29/22

I have dead agent nightmares

laid up in cement...

My certainty stiffens

once the mixture

has dried...

At night I go snooping,

leave this bag of bones roofied...

My mind is a torch

winged, and soaring down

sidewalks...

Which block should I haunt?...

Over alleys and playgrounds...

I play ordinary,

but birds fill the sky!...

Hard to jibe with concrete

when your feet are

just vapor!...

Heard a teakettle whistle,

or is that my eye?...

I have dead agent nightmares

laid up in cement...

I could tongue-lash

with you, but

I'm gnawing this bone...

All windows are gateways

for the time I was living...

Come close,

heed my breathing,

think again...

You're alone.

---Bunny Villaire

The fatty spoiled flesh

The fleshy underlip…

The clenched and puckered

Ass of man

That allows a pawn

to slip…

Why does it come so easy

To turn and feed the draft?...

The fiends of ready excess

Play with my human pottery,

And in their dragging of the current…

In their plunging of the depths

They are fated with my very worst…

Something damning for your thirst…

Just leave me to my tapestries!…

The cold is coming in…

So soon the ice will come and go,

And we'll be welcoming this glow…

Better not to intervene,

And force the card when Imogene

Is back to blasting caps, and

Drawing figures in the air

With a finger that works quickly

Like a typist who's possessed…

She is wearing her black night shirt,

And she's not expecting guests…

Her breasts are puckered, and she's shifting

Under veil of ready cloud…

She's tenting at an all night market…

There are few who've stayed amongst the dying light of her restless flicker flame…

So she washes her face in a forgotten latrine,

And tries her best to thoughtlessly recover…

...Tomorrows another day which we all must quick discover.

Imogene, tell me when you'll roll out of your hovel,

and finally dare to be perceived!...

...I am dying for an introduction, and you haven't been received

By any company in ages...

...Are you aching for a man?...

The fatty spoiled flesh in stages

Dries upon your window-sill,

And they swear that it will turn within their time frames like bad milk,

But I see you smiling like the Buddha,

You're not buckled down with sweats...

It was all just how they drew your bath...

And though their lips go white,

And flaccid cocks shrivel to a dried out dough...

They can't write your epitaph my dear...

No, they will never hear the waves inside the shell just like you do,

So let us leave you be to close the hatch.

©

6/10/22

Bunny Villaire

Now your pressed within my booklet,

where old wounds have gathered dust...

You'll have to wait until your salvaged

'fore you can inflict me with more rust

upon a forty one year armour that

grows softer by the hour...

Pummeled flesh's soothed by Love's soft lips,

and a kindness that your powers

could not darken or dismiss my Queen

of Dutiful Despair...

You who lived on blackened algae,

and poisoned lichen of ill bogs...

I am free, and firmly rooted far

beyond the Siren's wail!...

Yes, I'm still paying off old debts for sins,

but at least I'm not impaled

by the horns of Luciferia in her

many shifting skins...

I've got a bio-span of healing tucked

beneath my snuggled chin...

And I never would have wondered...

I could never have conceived

that my fate would be so pleasant...

So deliciously received

by such beauty, and such brilliance from

someone who seems aligned

with the trumpeting angelic team...

They who summon from the skies...

Yes, the old days are mere memories,

as fresh dew quells dry pits...

They can call to me with their desperate yelps

'til their throats are drowned in spit...

I've no fresh fruit for the gnashing teeth,

so the snarling hounds have fled...

Bless that I have finally found some sense

as old age comes to it's head...

only pray other's can reveal their truth

within Love's savage mirror...

No one needs to stand beneath the gun

Eking out their waning years...

©

2/17/22

Bunny Villaire

You've been to every tearoom,

you've dragged her out on the square...

Her cheeks are red as a rag-doll;

still blind you head for the glare

of bright lights, famine, and handshakes...

Your quick to pass her around...

She's dipped in shadows for seconds,

before she kisses the ground...

I keep my love out in the cold...

So discreet, underneath a stone...

I keep my love beyond where they will go...

I keep my love out in the rain...

You run 'round smashing windowpanes...

I keep my love tucked down beneath the loam...

There's not one face you would cling to...

You're always out on the run...

She's taught performance on impulse;

while you keep drawing the gun

on any flesh that you fancy...

A pliant and yielding array...

She's only mingled confections

to sample 'fore you'd amscray...

I keep my love out in the cold...

So discreet, underneath a stone...

I keep my love beyond where they will go...

I keep my love out in the rain...

You run 'round smashing windowpanes...

I keep my love tucked down beneath the loam...

©

12/18/21

Bunny Villaire

Disembodied souls

Feasting on our breath...

Everything we know

Is privy to their theft...

Disembodied souls...

Slicing through the sky...

Watch them as they go!...

Romping on the sly...

Nous vivons tous parmi

Leur espèce...

Nous ne sommes pas

Tous aus courant...

Si nous le faisions nous

Lancerions les dés...

En l'état, nous ne connaissons

Pas la valeur de la vie...

Disembodied souls

Feasting on our breath...

Everything we know

Is privy to their theft...

Disembodied souls...

Slicing through the sky...

Watch them as they go!...

Romping on the sly...

(Edit #2)

©11/11/21

--Bunny Villaire

I was watching the moon

when she started to bloom,

then a cloud came, and

stole her away!...

You come into my room,

Instantly I'm consumed,

I forget what I

wanted to say!...

At the edge of the night

through my window sash

I look out, and the moon's

in my eye...

Not quite sure, it's obscure,

but I'll let it pass

If it means that I'll

live or I'll die...

I had debts on the brain,

and the sleep never came...

All my friends can so

rarely be found!...

They've all got their own grief,

but my secret relief

Is that face in the sky

when I'm down...

At the edge of the night

through my window sash

I look out, and the moon's

in my eye...

Not quite sure, it's obscure,

but I'll let it pass

If it means that I'll

live or I'll die...

Now I'm tied to this dream

with a backbone I gleam

like the smile on a face

of a thief!...

Everyday I push through

Knowing that I'll see you

When I plop down, and

Lay me to sleep!...

At the edge of the night

through my window sash

I look out, and the moon's

in my eye...

Not quite sure, it's obscure,

but I'll let it pass

If it means that I'll

live or I'll die...

10/28/21

Bunny Villaire

There was a flutter in his chest

as he mounted the first few steps...

He had been watching this factory

from a nearby street,

he just wanted to be left

to his own devices, and make sure

there was no one

inside stirring...

Later on that night, by the streetlamp lights

he'd return through a broken screen...

Tim just felt at home in these haunted spots,

and right now he had felt at ease

to raise a crack pipe to chapped lips and spark up

as he squatted on the floor...

There was creaks and groans from the other rooms,

Places he'd never been before...

In the back of his head there was unchecked dread,

but he rarely tuned his ears

to his conscience now...

He was too far gone...

There was something at his rear

that raised a metal wrench

above his skull and smashed it swiftly down!...

It was some deranged old fogey who'd been living in his filth!

Tim didn't have any time to scream for help...

He was killed in the shadows and silt...

And the old man, barely paying notice,

ate off Tim's skin, his face, and his eyes...

Then he crawled like a spider to the dismal black

of the factories awful insides.

10/13/21

Bunny Villaire

This is not a place of safety and welcome reception anymore

Damn you Prose for losing your slim and athletic and very healthy aesthetic!

It's too idiotically stuffy now; too much damned stuff on it so that you don't feel attached to what you spit...

At least it's making me angry and forcing my words out again...

I wanted spill out my remorse for my dying uncle, but I feel transfixed and held hostage by this ridiculous new Prose that postures as a Suzy Homemaker I don't know what the fuck

with a sterile ugliness a mile long to keep the creative juices off the stage and out of the question...

Fuck you Prose and your gluttony for conformity.

Is that what happened here?...

A lack of commitment to patience and understanding for deeper words turned this place sour, and I'm going to have to retract and think again before I get on here for at least a little while.

I really don't what to say, but at least your stirring me inwardly if only with revulsion.

All the bodies milling 'round

tethered to their hallowed phones

are like sailors beyond light who've died

Cleaved and punctured by lake stones...

...Can you see them on the bottom, crying,

clam shell eyes, and coral nape?...

They were waiting there on billows rising...

...Stifled, sidelined frames that sank...

Now swinging though both hands are tied...

They will bait you to your tomb...

All one's got to do is dial them up,

And you are to the nth consumed...

...Can you see them on the bottom, crying,

clam shell eyes, and coral nape?...

They were waiting there on billows rising...

...Stifled, sidelined frames that sank...

That big line outside has got some pulse...

You'd be curdled to resist it's pull...

...Here's the monkey that scrawls every name...

He is drawing blood to pay his toll...

...Can you see them on the bottom, crying,

clam shell eyes, and coral nape?...

They were waiting there on billows rising...

...Stifled, sidelined frames that sank...

©

10/2/21

Bunny Villaire