kleaver

How can a naked man run past curfew the streets without living?

the author giving the text the right to kill

No one wrote me, this.
I speak for myself –
i am a text
you did not know that, only
the image of the Text.

If a cockroach were huge it would be a majesty, all hull and armour and wise bristled eyes and a moustache –– but because it is small, and slides into its home the Dark, i shall continue my shrieking.

Phnom Penh

If Man were made in the image of God,
then does God cheat, lie, plunder or kill?

It is not kindness that leads us to free
our own from the yoke of life,
even in mass graves evidence of death
fails to fright the powerful

Whose faces are so well designed
only Apollo could sculpt Him
but Apollo cannot be caged, the sun would pour forth the edges of a cell
or be released by flattered walls.

Not out of love do we hand out
famine, fritters or bigotry on street corners
or out of joy fall envious of the lamplighters
who catch fire with their learned pages and fry

But now it is morning
proud to have candled the cosmos for a second
the children have been taught to pluck and cradle
warm, brown grenades

How can a naked man run past curfew
the streets without living?

sparrow in a concrete bunker

‘I cannot imagine being
better than you’
Lord, you lack imagination.

I am better than everyone –
Give me time, i can do
what Newton did for knowledge
Aurelius for Rome
Caesar for power
Khan for land
and God for sons.

But i am also so much worse –
In three seconds, i will have
gulped angrily a mile offwater
sacrificed body to the altar of gravity
while soul whiles self
to claim, worry, boredom
or inheritance.

Yesterday i took off all my clothes with all the windows gaping, and felt high and precious the way i hadn’t for a long time.

the boredom habit

Boredom is a habit,
abhor it.
Do not allow your cosmos
to shrink facile or unworthy,
for the rail against things to do
is a shamefulness
betraying inoriginality.
Confess and go,
Not yet are you so big,
not yet God.

Protected: flyman

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

voila

Music
knows everything
and oozes life without word.
Distilled thought,
poem-free.
A slate that runs forever
and cannot be held.
A god without form –
a god that prays
and is permitted
to come to inhabit men –
a man without his head.

–––––––––––
Music is the most Dionysian of the arts, since it appeals directly to man’s instinctive, chaotic emotions and not to his reasoning mind.

ornament-ingredient

A halo does but scream
Target!

Locks shaven
and sent bald death
in a paper robe
in a gas bunker

Jesus was light
without his crown of thorns
Caesar naked
without his laurels
Medusa ugly
when age made her snakes
thin

What more does an
outrageous growth need
than an
outrageous growth?

Protected: Sakhalin burning

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below: