Saturday, June 12, 2010

baudelaire's ghost is better than the sandman

i couldn't sleep
4 a.m.

i shut my eyes

that's when baudelaire's ghost
showed up

he had some poor shit's soul
under his one arm & in the other
a phantom cheese grater

he kept shaving soul motes
over my face

sprinkling flakes beneath
my weary lids

& as my eyes grew heavier
he began whispereing
misanthropic slogans in my ear

"the body isn't a temple
it is a shithouse"

& so on & so forth...

i awoke at 11 a.m.
rewired like a motherfucker
This blog is updated irregularly and has nothing to do with the poet's output. The poet is actually disturbingly prolific. He writes about 5 poems per day. The pages are everywhere, even stacked in the bathtub.