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.

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Metallica Ties