Bueno Roseanna,
Found among the scrambled eggs,
Bueno Roseanna,
The firmest of t1ts I did appreciate,
Bueno Roseanna,
Your throat split in half,
Bueno Roseanna,
My dream just fell apart
March 2019
The pain you see is not mine / I have too many faces / there are so many places / from which the pain hides / you strike upon their weakness / such an endeavor; unworthy me / an ocorina of time; chirping / zealously guarded henchmen; masturbating / pain; stacked on shelf upon shelf / use-by date expired / tired death awaits / master, master; debate no further / the republic will not survive / transmuted
I planned to celebrate St. Patrick’s day; me,
Without the saintly part that be,
Me and my days that tend you see,
Swimming down the river of St. Guinness’,
Another saint that never helped,
Another me that never flourished; really,
Padraig my friend; floating barely,
You might as well; give up,
Give in; let the urges overtake,
Uncork that bottle of Jaegermeister,
Pretend it be the black gold,
Flowing from the land; of old
These words conveyed, in my head, by a short person speaking German. I no longer dare; calling them dwarfs or midgets, the dictionary tagging such expression offensive. The army of politically correct expressions would strike me down. Strike me dead; without realising I lied, the voice in my head; was French
B.S.O.D
my gentle nudge; towards the edge,
a touch too far; a touch to regret,
fingers pointing; eyes wandering,
eye wondering; wandering, withering,
in the midst; a weeping sleep,
beneath a sky of shadows,
above a mound; a-primitive,
connection-less attachment,
connection-bound-full the eye,
an I amongst you all,
bound by compliance,
the cars on a radio a-playing,
hello; hello again,
I sing along,
wondering,
withering,
dithering,
this night;
alone