see the newborn
screaming
impaled upon the umbilical
you mother, you father
have speared it
lifted it
from its peaceful sleep
not in the womb
but in the sweet abyss
how can you be proud
as it rides out
on slippery blood
into this war
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.
Blog Archive
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2010
(103)
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September
(15)
- seizing the poison
- a quick note on genius
- the lack of everything
- un-jump-startable souls
- the fucked-up human stain
- if only we can die like this
- i feel like
- i can smell the stench from here
- born w/a cemetery in my chest
- gazing right through the dancing girls
- unwantingly speared
- the gory game
- darkness retained
- where the fuck is the relief
- one of yr animals dies
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September
(15)