shan't sleep it away

outside the snow is knee-deep
a wild, cold, blowing day
red rag in her hand
someone in the hall
photographs on the walls
drunk all of the time
a cold panic shooting through
like an inebriated batman
in a struggle with death itself
over an old, half-sunken grave
in the cemetery of the chapel
a diagnosis of neurasthenia
scrimshankers and degenerates
hands burned red from wringing
it was becoming a tic
like the astrological signs
the empty sky and the stars
not a sound in the world
i wish i could be at home
but you don’t get to choose

#dadaist #poetry

the rumor

a ritual affirmation
floundering helplessly
a pink shimmer in the trees
a bang, a whimper
symptoms, not cause
horrifying, hellish loneliness
surrendered, blamed
a clock, fallen
in a filthy puddle
laid with gold
riddled with holes
darkness staring forward
haunted, torch‐lit, suffocating
unchanged and unchanging
atlantis and lemuria
heaven and hell
comings and goings
gone, gone, gone
and everywhere
fear overshadowed
the will to live
just like every other sunday

#dadaist #poetry

the child is not a child

i'm rambling now
a cluster of pill bottles
on the bedside table
like a tunnel to shangri-la
the funeral pyre of the poor

now fades the thunder
time now for the bits in between
locusts eat the wheat
there is an early frost
strong winds, abnormal currents

the dull toll of an iron bell
keening, grieving for ourselves
while the red sunlight settled in
a morose and sullen cast
which is to last one thousand years

i belong. belong. long to be.
but another part of me
a quiet and buried part
is trying to break free
in the sun of a hot september

#dadaist #poetry

candlelight

ancient cathedral
cardinals in black cassocks
who refuse to die

..

thursday

winter was fading
her weeping was in silence
it's like that sometimes

#haiku #dadaist #poetry

of uncertain vintage

at first there was nothing
still, with cicadas shrilling
a deadpan, unamused glare
it began as it always did

strangely named apéritifs
emptied into cesspools
a useless sack of skin
with a pithy comment

ravished and polluted
the dreadful mortification
the scent of wet earth
the rusty taste of old fear

consigned to the waste
ahead of the midnight line
the metal twisted and buckled
causing a jolt of terror

eyes rushing like searchlights
bronze statues of all the gods
the outline of a skull
just making words on the page

they were just meant to be stories

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoetry #dadaistpoem

pontifex, or the adder

countless stories have ended
fasting on black bread and fermented cabbage
the blue distempered walls
the ever-changing patterns
of loyalty and dignity

i could barely get the words out
shouts and brandishings of weapons
leaving a wake of trampled stalks
blurred from the just-hung weight
split with the noise of thunder

turned by grief into black poplars
forming a continuous grove
between the midbrain and cerebral cortex
she did not even glance at them
everything was boring; everything was fine

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoetry #dadaistpoem

The September issue of Warring Songs, my #dadaist #poetry #zine, will be available tomorrow once I pick up the physical copies from the printer.

books and plays and invented characters

one and only one
a childhood photograph
close this book right now
what do kids know anyhow?

walk into a bookstore
drag up loose threads
a creature of time
without any discernible plan

eddying at the doors
with an extreme intimacy
a copy, word by word
slightly more grim than good

their tongues had shrivelled
extinction was looking possible
wild as a dingo on drugs
rising mist and gun smoke

looked like an accident
the naked woman on the dais
the nature of her discomfort
red and clean, polished

the skeleton of the page
the flesh and clothes
dark overcoat and formal attire
beautiful old school cemetery

green like an emerald
time-blackened gargoyles
blister in need of lancing
throbbing behind my eyes

every petty vexation
which fortune may dispense
maybe a drop of rain
once upon a time

#dadaist #poem #dadaistpoetry #dadaistpoem

the day was a fine one indeed

a prudent simplicity
almost completely silent
tunneling out the inside
turning a cold shoulder
no one would hear

the stereotype common man
a gray flannel suit
fine fabric, but frayed
a career of conjugal felicity
engulfed in flames

a languishing existence
an accident while shaving
the emptiness of the shadows
a frail figure in the darkness
the blood of the flock

peering into rock pools
apples from the swamp
peonies bloom out of season
smoke in the air
shaped like a cross

weary to the bone
upon the cold floor
funny things, memories
forbidden watches and compasses
but death's my destination

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoetry #dadaistpoem

the thick air; it burns

a perfect line, unmarred
from the dark hills
three in one in the trinity
reading from the prayer book
we go down to the dust
into venerable monuments of regularity

shapes in the darkness
a bland, vacuous expression
an expression so freakish
strangely unpleasant
an audible intake of breath
clatter and clamor

the current is too strong
echoing through his head
a steaming snarl of roots
corruption and ungodliness
gaping wounds in the earth
purging into obscurity

forehead furrowed, murmuring
hard-faced crook, greedy pig
you mean nothing to them
the last victim of manic bloodshed
after all these years
you can stop asking

you’re not fooling anyone

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoetry #dadaistpoem

agave flesh does not give like man's

it's not hard to imagine
the language of the prophet
nothing new, just more cruel

butterflies, whispering colors
trembling to his lips
nothing new, just more cruel

dampness that seeped up
their ears flooded
nothing new, just more cruel

the faintest of ripples
of eels in the thames
nothing new, just more cruel

in the gloom of the deep
untraceable poisons
nothing new, just more cruel

a radical solution
quick and effective
nothing new, just more cruel

electrodes in my brain
a cacophony of energy
nothing new, just more cruel

we may not meet again
after the riots
nothing new, just more cruel

a great tide of tears
in a pool of blood
nothing new, just more cruel

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoem #dadaistpoetry

i will be smiling forever

the eyes are gone
no. not her. me.
i learned to fear
on the cruel white
of the paper
trying to speak
crying hunger
grave and bony
still ravenous
shadows across
the universe
ghosts and damp pine
taking deep breaths
burial rites
remain righteous
to man and god
haunted, haunted
with death itself
overwhelming
stuff the dead with
white noise to drown
out the sound of
oblivion

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoem #dadaistpoetry

ever the worrier, my love

desolate
looking up from the knife i was sharpening

mangled
reaching for the sky with missing fingers

insidious
building like flames yearning for firewood

furious assault
changed naturally into pity and contempt

unconsciousness
the beginning of the night sky’s blackness

deep purples
the doomed canal-builders, or even alien visitors

corruption
how much more of a freak could i be?

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoem #dadaistpoetry

eternity

no anxiety
louder and louder
no doubt, no dread, no fear
the magnificence
the thundering
laughed at and abused
the thrashing
the suffering
the human part of it
vast and beautiful
by all the gods
in the wind
at the cliff's edge
an unholy mess
in the upright coffin
a world that does not exist
a thousand twinkling bits of debris
relax and breathe in

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoetry #dadaistpoem

a simple movement full of menace

at his usual spot on elysian fields
the north poured into his heart
one of only five passengers
i could have faced the light

night was racing in from the east
i'll call it nothing; an unnamed something;
a brief disturbance; a dream, perhaps
no way to know what it contained

forgotten during the long winter
deep in the pool's murky heart
it did funny things to the brain
where the dead-life grew larger

bluer at this instant by proximity
saturated with the kiss of decadence
with a guillotine pointed at my neck
i’m the one you have to knock down
i’m the one

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoetry #dadaistpoem

the sharp steel, or
sign of the cross

it might seem strange
many offices inside
strange and secretive
different directions
a highly motivated thief
pure raw dominance
tightened his throat
a breaking connection
a jolt of terror
blood and flesh
demarcated by yellow tape

strong noontime sun
with the same unrest
black, spindly fingers
on the floorboards
a corpse
a fractional smile
a ritualistic display
a black waistcoat
one executioner
tethered to an iv
would you like to come in?

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoem #dadaistpoetry

little comfort

choking. I put on jeans
running, running
No breasts, no hips
hermaphroditic
deeply susceptible
looking for the easy option
Psychogenesis
controlled substances
estranged from the objective world
broken, beautiful, rather alone

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoem #dadaistpoetry

them

they were prepared to cope with uncertainty
peering lifelessly into their computer screens

as a spent bird will fly to its nest
they’ll wake up and stomp us all to death

quiet is the part they all agree on
fearlessly calling attention to themselves

as they turned up the long drive
hands rubbing together for warmth

they were licking me, biting me
a perfect little goat cheese

too much. they're down to the bone
out of this chaos of living things

i barely remembered grabbing the knife
if they exist, they are too far away

they live or die in the eye
that is what they cry out for

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoetry #dadaistpoem

late to the rendevous point

white plastic chair in a sad cafe
no choice but to take the steep path
overcome by sensations of being pulled
to the entertainment section to read
some multi-media art show

beyond my deserts, i was happy
though the heavens might break open
it was usually a pleasant outing
darkening to the colour of the sky
fans and satchels and picnic baskets

the stinking miasma of the river
inside the gate to the short driveway
the lake glitters like a silver coin
shivered uneasily at the sound
the sound of someone in the hall

slippery thumbs in my eye sockets
yellow, and my brow was feverish
yellow-green like a cantaloupe melon
eventually, millions more years later
i wonder if i have done what i set out to do

#dadaist #poetry #dadaistpoem #dadaistpoetry

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