Subterranean Thoughts

Prodding dreamily at the space under

My chin. The space where the shotgun would fit

Snugly in. Thoughts that vaguely meander

As I rest under this gnarled tree’s bough. It

Seems that it would be no trouble at all

If I was to fall from this place and rest-

Lessly crawl on through. I just need to call

On that one moment’s decision; a guest

In no time of neck-snapping Death who yet,

As my host, ushers me beyond.

What remains; a whip lashed marionette,

Shattered and twitching, that will not respond.  

Twitching Rigid

A moist fuck

In the temple of taboo.

Siamese duck

Made into stew.

Suck drenched wet cunt

As, after dinner, grandparents

Ruttingly grunt

In their political tents.

The Marxist Ferret

Frying pan clam-shut cat

Drives me, distancing future from that

Future I planned on my vernal mat.

Torpor conquers my feverish terror

In a rigid battle to close the door.


The leaves are bronzing over, as umber

Shafts of the Autumn’s sun, tent-

like, shade folly’s of a forced mortal year.

Of life’s rich liquor; mulched rot, a blotched smear

On her flawed, lawless cycle of some transient

Phase of decay. A shining veneer

On a crafted, sharply piercing, dream spear.

Grinding to the obsequious pause; lanced

Through Nature’s grim drab soul; an empty tear

From her nascent eyes drench, with a clear

Banality, the children of a spent

Future with a haggard, wasted fear.


Drifting in the terrible scream

Of a trembling explosion. Neat

Victims seeming to shimmer in the melting heat

Before thudding crisply dead as in some padded dream.

Water’s pure rainbow sucked dry into steam

At the elemental border. Manufactured order, Great

Like an old War, its fire squandered from the grate,

Fractures as Nature’s chaotic unfettered seam

Is mined in a panoply of rising octaves.

Life craves for it’s own empty, forced continuance

With every dirt soaked breath a horrid struggle

Until that essential calm meets and greets us to our graves.

A tidy randomness that not even the web of Science

Can stave off. Just ensure the space in-between isn’t dull.


She is standing before me in

Some wretched sharp-boned pose. Dreams shift-

Ing light pierces translucent thin,

shrink-wrapped skin. Her glorious grin

Dispossessed by fraught, frightened eyes.

Now, with thoughts obsessions first

Caress, each part of me that dies

Sees another path; the less cursed.

Stumbling in my own dark, bleak cor-

Ridors I fiercely hunt in love’s slow,

Impotent style after hope or

Hope’s trailing, tragic shadow.


I don’t know if we can be friends anymore, I said.

Oh, why is that? She said.

Well there’s a problem, I said.

And what is that? She said.

I love you, I said.

Oh, she said.

Oh, I said.

Oh, she said,


I said oh again, too.

We had both said oh twice.

I have ruined our friendship, I said.

No you haven’t, she said.

Yes I have, I said.

I don’t think you have, she said.

Oh? I said

Do you love me? I said.

Does it matter? she said.

It might be quite important, I said.

Do you want to know now? She said.

If you wouldn’t mind, I said.

I have to go, she said.

Oh, I said.

I took that as a no, I said.

Oh, she said.

I just don’t…, she said.

Are you going to go? I said.

She didn’t say

And then turned and walked away.