My Latest Poem

'If The Good Lord Is Agreeable' When the pleasure end becomes business few people besides nuns would be a witness and I won't be one. I'll gladly donate my ear-drums to your hisses that were once your hugs and kisses and will hopefully be again, hun. You'll want them to suture up your uterus once we've met the future us. That's sure to change in a way that's not mysterious, love. Many visits to the pews in the interim praying for a phew in the forseeable if the good Lord is agreeable Onto Newbie who's asleep under the Beagle ear.

From A Kurt Vonnegut Book (draft)

An explosion on the Sun had seperated man and Dog. A universe schemed in mercy would have kept man and Dog together. The universe inhabited by Winston Niles Rumfoord and his Dog was not schemed in mercy

My Latest Poem

'Damsel The Ox' Damsel The Ox, tank-top and little cotton socks, mangled cock. A star, spangled grassland pet. Hang me uh lot so I reject your hat melon hug Observed with the eye of this manhole-thug.

My Newest Poem

'Boo' Healing decor is cartooned In this room, in every room. To be continued. Actions Redo Coordinates are an adoring Leech that sucks on each old reign. A dot scenario. but you can't bleed the bleach of me or any of the angelic horde Ciao rodents!

A Poem That Makes Sense To Me Today.

'Death Is Nothing At All' Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is this death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner. All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before. How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

My Latest Poem

'Balloon Flight' (No Global Filth) I put all of my eggs in one basket, and rise above all of the King's horses and men with my Dog and my Wife We put all of our legs in the backseat. I said 'They don't need HD!' They then nodded. So roses below won't get a sole browse with sore elbows from beneath two eyebrows on my foamy wedding.

My Latest Poem

'Light' The naivest Lent nor mace can keep me from my orbit. My heart the third rock from you is between Mercury and Jupiter and other measly sorts Between the sorest clock and the best rock gig. I can't ever stand the bad atmosphere between us. It's my vitiligo you see! I fire the sigh-rocket at your core hoping for something more.

A great way for a band to hype an upcoming album.

Genesis 6:5 to 6:7

'And God saw that man's wickedness was great on the earth and that his imagination and thoughts were nothing but evil. And God repented that he had created man on the earth and was grieved to his heart. And God said, I will destroy man from the face of the earth, man and beast, every creeping thing.'

When Your Number Is Up

'There was a merchant in Baghdad who sent his servant to market to buy provisions and in a little while the servant came back, white and trembling, and said, Master, just now when I was in the marketplace I was jostled by a woman in the crowd and when I turned I saw it was Death that jostled me. She looked at me and made a threatening gesture; now, lend me your Horse, and I will ride away from this city and avoid my fate. I will go to Samarra and there Death will not find me. The merchant lent him his Horse, and the servant mounted it, and he dug his spurs in it's flanks and as fast as the Horse could gallop he went. Then the merchant went down to the market-place and he saw me standing in the crowd and he came to me and said, Why did you make a threatening gesture to my servant when you saw him this morning? That was not a threatening gesture, I said, it was only a start of suprise. I was astonished to see him in Baghdad, for I had an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.' (A speech from a play by W. Somerset Maugham, which in turn is a retelling of a classic Iraqi tale)

My Latest Poem

'A Livelier Fur' People are offended at the sight of you, even defensive behind peepholes but blame lays elsewhere. Yell 'ow' but I can't hear a sound! Mellow out and you could make a frown. Hung over a couple of shoulders that feel like a million bucks. It must be a pleasure to be of service! Bowled over by a single rolling boulder that gathers moss.

My Newest Poem

'Satan Recipe' I would never eat my pet Canaries. It's better they panic less neccesarily, with flashbacks of that airspace-net. I head out picking berries, to throw at hippy-picnics, as a cynic who's not hip to the pips. Venerate the cesarean-pit of Pidgeons after weddings and leave the peasant rice alone for me to take, deranged and swift, to place it's name in the diary underneath my bedding on my burgeoning list.

Fashion Corner

Metallica Ties

A Poem I Like (From 'The Hunger Games' Part 3 Book 'Mockingjay')

'The Hanging Tree' Are you, are you Coming to the tree Where thet strung up a man they say murdered three. Strange things did happen here No stranger would it be If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree. Are you, are you Coming to the tree Where the dead man called out for his love to flee Strange things did happen here No stranger would it be If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree. Are you, are you Coming to the tree Where I told you to run, so we'd both be free. Strange things did happen here No stranger would it be If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree. Are you, are you Coming to the tree Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me. Strange things did happen here No stranger would it be If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.

My Latest Poem

'Third-Leg District' Bulldogs observe Mice play without strict ID and curiosity do everything it can to kill. Mad stream Drool flows into the canal and will never meet coral but would be more than cordial if it did They easily spot the tiptoe-rust on the high-heel strut below tip-top shape. and whimper over the mess that's made.

Mr. Kavanagh knew the scoop!

'Memory of my Father' Every old man I see Reminds me of my father When he had fallen in love with death One time when sheaves were gathered. That man I saw in Gardner Street Stumbled on the kerb was one, He stared at me half-eyed, I might have been his son. And I remember the musician Faltering over his fiddle In Bayswater, London, He too set me the riddle. Every old man I see In October-coloured weather Seems to say to me: "I was once your father." (Patrick Kavanagh)

My Latest Poem

'Annoy Rodent' I was born with a big head It was all downhill from there. My mom is rereading and My Dad is an iced-moon. My sisters are lacuna aiding and my brother is army-broken. I was primarily educated in the 'Ah Lord' school and currently reside on a covenant-rod with a Wife whom I declare holy. I'll die above a fire that they'd cook any rodent on on a trendy noon

My Latest Poem

'Ageism Elf' I've never had a fenced icon in the place I exist yet i'll take any exit with my tiny axe and my Crane net. Red neurology and a heartless nap! The ideal tut. Where the untitled go.. Away from any part of the map! with hotel porn and lemon port paid for with Taxi-Yen, that's as good as anything here.

My Latest Poem

'Raga Man' Eating pasta on a Futura flight and I bet that some of the sardines are both up and air tight. Grind Ink into the canvas. Drinking faster than I have before or will after. Tea. Gin and Tapas, that was dessert, served by the stewardesses, in a sedation tin, above pastures and above the thug-pit.

My Latest Poem (Draft)

Eating pasta on a Futura flight and drinking faster than I have before or will after. Tea, Gin and tapas, that was dessert and I bet that some of the sardines are both up and air tight. Grind Ink into the canvas Above pastures. The stewardesses are trying to keep me upright.