march 2020





...and so which is it to be

to yield to this chaos or defy it


not that it really, really matters

for whatever I choose


I will disintegrate cell-by-cell

until I attain the consciousness of wax


so please, render down these bones

and instead make candles from my fat


let me at least burn with my own private light

and warm the dead with my arrogance


let me push these shadows aside

so that I might find the path


that never was

the marvels that never were


a memory buried by superlatives

this invasive trick


of how prophesy left the world

infested with apes


an animal, like me, lost inside itself

turning into wax...





                                (ii) night a dream leaked  from my ears

and I woke to find the pillows beside me


stained with thousands of disembodied mouths

the remnants of every voice I had ever heard


they wormed and whispered towards me

saying that only I and I alone


could give their pain some purpose

so I quickly dressed and left


only to find the rest of the house

festooned with the wings of dismembered angels


the smell of their rotting immortality was so repugnant

the universe around me choked with disgust


then, at the windows outside, I noticed

crowds upon crowds of all the faces I had ever known


their mouths missing

their eyes shedding


every shade and nuance of imagined love

fulfilment, fulfilment they yearned


but I could take no more

I left the house and never returned...






...this glory, this magnificence

this garland of makeshift divinity


is what exactly

and who are these people


being chased by spirochetes

who rant and spit inspiration


and then launch themselves like crazed sopranos

off the edge of the world


what is it that calls to them

across these deserts


these dark, intuitive spaces

where parasites appear in the gloom


spinning alliterations

and turning fever into joy and joy back into fever


but, but this still does not explain glory

or this lust for magnificence


for what victory can truly conquer

the entirety of everything


starlight, for instance, has no such vanity

its incandescence just spins 


a unilateral presence

it is, however, the aging devotees of starshine


who sit longing for some signs of triumph...