kleaver

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

Tag: death

Protected: a study of futility

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

deep bass protest

the dead gong sounds
in the dead of the night

star-light wrinkled feather
and a burnt, dying-out fist-fight

delight people-flying
with a bounce air-tight

arm slight to the belly
on the hood on the car’s top-light

what height feinted moisture
over-bruised clanking screams “de-knight!”

takes-fright motor screaming
deep-bass morse-code writes

“I’m slight-ly off-duty see
you tomorrow, good-night”

slept tight
her head on the tarmac song

I am jealous of some convict who murdered three men and a baby in their sleep last year and earned the death penalty for it. I am envious of his calm, gentle gait as he ascends the abattoir of the court, furiously i try to capture every detail of his blessed, radiant face as he slips a noose over his neck and does this tie for the last time. I should like to be the life draining out of those jerking legs, i should like to be pouring out in his panicky urine, gushing against hope from his sterile prison undergarments, and i should like to have the same last breath escape from out my lips, under the clean, benevolent eye of the law.

archiac, barely

postpone
post-mortems
surely they must pay their dues
modernists make to straggle through
but i; i (most painful) of all men
do not recycle or
listen to the heart-throb of a narcotised city
playing our tempo; the certainty of our immortality
touching the plastic immediate from shining fluorescent verbatim
the organic now serves
the orgastic later

past is : the recollected present
future is : the hopeful past
only my instant
– swung onto a visionary adjacent
can smile click coarsen or
bring to ecstasy the myalgia of the available
and when the orgy of now falls
no matter; for we will always be
archiac