For the bitch in ruins
and the breathing girl.
Wet wars
draw me into the flux
smelling sweet of crushed knuckles
and severed nerve endings.


Long lascivious daggers,
as if once fingers
touching those sacred places,
came to lay
where the stars fell weeping
and horses unraveled their gallop
out through the open ends
of violent forests.


Ink marked bone.
A body to nest in.
A home for ghosts
and the man that follows.

Ache Horns

The circumference of her labia is that
of a fisted pile of white benzo pills
ready to be ingested.


I am now a blue rider traveling the side effects
not clearly making a distinction between
bird and apparatus.


Between love and love.


Dark ribbons of
Sistine blood sounded in crescendo
hammering my limp body to wake


in a fitful roost.


An image hung above the bed.
A shadow born to the bowled soil.
My face.
My reflection was there.

Philip LoPresti

Ache Horns

Arkansas Halo

Philip LoPresti

CLASH Poetry Playlist

Ache Horns

Arkansas Halo