Last Call

bloody applephoto from


Careless entrail

strewn from forest branch

claret ooze

lies rusting in dawn’s lustre

spattered trail

of blood sated footprints

lead to sub terrestrial altar

safe from love’s harsh glare



pallid patron of time worn song

baleful balladeer

hides in shadow of moon lit stage

chanting daemon verses

strumming lust from hearts languid

tender bonne bouche

starved for death’s cold steel


Each night the chosen waits

breasts heaving in sheer ruffle

at back stage door

sanguine souls of fate’s exception

innocent but for want of pleasure

beguiled by siren song

they dance down forest path

hand in hand with their maker


About Phil

Hi, my name is Phil. I’ve managed to escape the corporate world, rid myself of excess belongings, travel the country extensively in my old Winnebago, and find a new home on a beautiful barrier island in the Gulf of Mexico. I define myself as: a free spirit, a writer, a philosophical anarchist, a poet; a lover of nature, a lover of art, a protector of animals, as well as a devoted friend and partner
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