Tag: poet
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The mood is on me
Nothing moves me This irremovable mood which occludes, Like a bright moon does the owl’s beloved gloom, All the world’s joy. The noise of guards rifling through Rooms made of tinfoil and dead leaves Loud as toasterpops seem In a house full of people sleeping dreamily.
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Rattler old
Once we had completed introductions He launched into a speech about Etruscan nuclear production He asked, shrewdly to his mind, what the centaurs, mischievous and wise Took for their lunch, and whether their type-crunched forms were not Totems praised when raised by tribes of riders in ancient days. Next, he came to what he saw…
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He paints my backgrounds
She stares with loathing when I dare to say The direction in which I am going Eyes rolling my erection showing A collection of such asides I confide to my file I hide my portfolio in a hole outside For turning worms and Duncton’s holy moles to ogle At times it seems close to over…
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Heat is spice
Straining daylight canine apt Balm for the insane Nailed palms fail holding onto given alms Through my cap Apollo’s lash’s scalding tips impale my brain Cutting through all dash Heat like spice and hunger and tiredness a great leveller Even mighty lions whose pelts men died to wear will age out of fierceness.
Alchemisland 