don’t put my poems down in some book of letter and rhyme. they are the ramparts. let them be not bound to a name like mine; I am neither quelle nor canon. Logos born of our lie I am a man of treachery and lechery like any; men were not born to bind —from the[…]
Posts Tagged: poetry
whose game is this we’re batting forth and back a’round loving, lying naming, dying heaping bones on hallowed ground pebbles plied to turning tire as history’s wheel mow down merrily we the muck of god a brief crushing and a sound
plough under the lazy man till him to the soil sow his sinew to the worms but spare me, the prophet the poet of toil for on the word the world turns
who is this ghost? she shares a bedchamber in your hearts palace dark spirit afoot pounding wet steps in the night making meals of light peeking through braided lash pouncing on morning’s thumb then trade nightmare for waking dream heartbeats speed the fiction but she waits in vein for the night’s wet truth who is[…]