the jagged teeth of a leviathan smiling across the nighttime line running low, above the clouded blue-black ink of deepest sea
Let them ruin you a while let them wreck you for a spell
The humble words of the wise “Death is a prerequisite to life “it will always arrive and once it does...”
Shall forever be well, Like Julian said Centuries ago
said Ghengis Khan to all his sons hold ye well to this protestation – ‘surrender or you die’
The man Who can Climbs high stairs.
There there, society will not forgive you it will haul you over coals put you in its iron maiden who suffocates your imagination
Smell, feel, touch and sound I am a rain child
Who clear away the bodies, tie the flags low, remember who exchange your smile for piles of shit-brown guile
Olivia deHaviland, the gates of death sucking the skeleton's thumb wet feet adorn the dead screen
obscene phantoms hiss in my ears, softly, while I lay comatose under bed-sheets, dejected again, psychic pain of ancestors at my blackened brain-stem
It is 1949, and I have now seen the world. I've seen Germany on its knees, its people both horrified and grief-stricken for the soldiers they lost and the crimes they committed before dying. It seems it really was true that most people had no idea of the atrocities that the Nationalist Socialists had carried in the name of 'strengthening Germany', even though many claimed to be devoted followers. I saw Dachau and Auschwitz in front of me on their worst days of cruelty, and there were many of them. Had to see it from a distance, because I neither look German nor speak any. If I'd been seen, they would've probably thought I was a gypsy and matters would get complicated.I was in Hiroshima on D-Day.
A thousand shattered pieces on a sticky lino floor sour, red liquid seeping into the worn rug’s edges No. That’s not me.
I am your father lost and lonely The world and all its feathers phoney I picture you smiling, making happy face When I was seventeen I had a dream Of what my life would be like And it was nothing like this, no not at all
Well we live in the Hitchcockian world, and I wanted you to know and fall in love with it—the bomb, I mean, not the alien; he is as ugly as they come.
a clattering of jackdaw now take flight carrying their ill-gotten gains a songbird slain's remains songbird sings his nations anthem while his buried child moves earth and stones walks so tiny and discreet upon her bones and her distressed feet put up your sword, put up your anger for just an hour
West of pier point on the cusp of Ben Hazi the guerrillas set up camp the sound of gunfire in the east and on the west silence interrupted with the horror of explosion
The sun is a bastard Whom I love. Moon does not understand I am cheating with soil. The mossbeds rise like breath The crows do not observe, they do not know I cheat With worms.
I bought Bukowski I bought White Stripes seven deaths on Lincolnshire roads where I live the rain still falling
dried leaves rustle like fading nightmares, an urge to suck in colors before me