Keep It Regular
we wrote no evergreen words we dismantled the trees broke the birds bagged the breeze split the godhead in thirds for the sneeze offered blessings for the spirit you can keep it, but do nothing with it we are writing deciduous trees…
parade the broken poet for the vultures an acceptable sacrifice in many cultures you may not know it in your time but the crime of rhyme has woken in you a desire to bring down babel and it has made you unstable…
there is a light on me there is a lie on me the stain of night on me a dead goodbye on me butterfly in the drink moth by the nightstand some sinister think about red right hand wake into truth waking…
what job title do you see me having? where do you see me living? i’m trying to be something different hung inside the skin of quiet not succumbing to the marketing maw foot against the door space heater for the thaw not…
tell me not to write so much tell me that you’re out of touch it’s hard for me to give a fuck comments like yours really suck where am i supposed to go with that? i’m still sat here typing wondering at…
i have done away with phallic symbols tossed the machismo in the can who the hell needs incel leanings? all my friendships undergo screenings no rape apologists and no terfs no red hat wearers or conservative smurfs i’d rather live on alternative…
can i get an honest answer? can you ask an honest question? am i slave to the muse? have a i blown my fuse? do i read the news? would i fuck you? i have rented this spine and broken this line…
when did you get your fucking license? what is your degree in? what do you do? how much do you make? should i know you? isn’t that a bit pretentious? can you have a book? why? here’s a personalised fuck of for…
the seeds i neglected in the back of my throat like crumbs i can’t cough out it’s just a fucking poem about as important as a bagel as triumphant as a booger you can go be arftistic over there there are corners…
daily travails a word to the wise an eye on the prize and a pocketful of lies a punctured lung sighs hold him under the water a puncture kit and a desire to baptise all of the things you oughtta not be…