Thursday, May 31, 2012

Echoes of Creation

I awoke to myself, that mirror in which I also slept.
"Morning," but dawn's gone,
ritualism and rites of passage pass by. 
Fuck breakfast.

Blue afternoons in my bedroom -
my most sincere compulsion overall is
getting high.

Never one sensation overcomes before another -
suffice to say that sirens whisper too:
I'm horny.

Come and hear the echoes of creation,
this poem from the throne
I wrote
while shitting.

Saturday, May 26, 2012

Penance and Gift

My penance is my life. My gift is my sense of humour.

I got fate-raped.

God slipped something in my drink.


Tuesday, May 8, 2012


I was a boy.
I paced the forest path
in the roar of grasshoppers and
the swell of summer's night;
beneath the whirring dynamo of heaven,
a carousel of light. 

At day I ran wild and sweat-slick
in the rage of mid-day sun,
myself and someone else,
and a metronomic footfall drum; 
the blue horizon calling as if
I were the only one.

Time is cruel to all but time
and scars or the scarred.
The Firmament is shattered
by a dopamine reward -
and sirens of innocence wail,
brutalized by a reason-cock.