CARNAGE
Have you not heard me?
crying, screeching
and pleading!
Have you not seen me?
in the mirror? upon the
streets?
have you not felt me
in the brightest and
darkest of times?
did you not bury me?
time and again
only then to witness my
shadow rise like the
desperate carnage of
hope,
that we have scattered
carelessly
into ancient colours.
DIDN’T SEE THAT COMING
My father dead at 45, death
by alcohol and prescription
drugs misadventure,
his spiteful wife followed
two years later by the same
M.O:
I didn’t see that coming,
the 3 or 4 times of
catching my dick in my
trouser zipper
or catching my hair or
beard on fire whilst firing
up a joint:
didn’t see that coming,
a beautiful daughter
who has given us 3
angelic grandchildren,
and all the animal
friends throughout my
life,
I didn’t see that coming,
a ghost-child abortion
into which I was too weak
to resist:
of becoming
Holy&intoxicated
with books,
of making it this far,
of drowning beautifully
in other worldly cultures,
of being in awe of nature
and in the beauty and the
shame of
the human-nature,
didn’t see that coming,
and neither
did this poem.
CRUMBLED AND TANGLED
She is there,
somewhere,
as the days
crumble into
tangled years:
so long ago
loitering within,
I don’t know if
she is
still alive
or how she is
getting through
this life:
it’s hard to
dismiss pain,
I know
we both felt this
and maybe
this poem
will finally
pardon
the guilt of
us
both.
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