poetry

i think of you

i think of you
on the wet bus
your eyes
open like oysters
etched with emotion

i gave you my t shirt to
wear when we gobbled up
breakfast

virgin rice
hot coffee
and slow voices
decorate my room

– itadakimasu

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Humour, Rantings

10 things that make me stabby

  • folding clothes in neat piles
  • hip-hop played louder than listening speed
  • people with bombs strapped to their chest and a smile on their face
  • small children in waiting rooms who need to be exorcised
  • a blocked toilet without a plunger
  • people who ask me for a light before they look for a cigarette in my hand
  • hobo joe and his dreamcoat crammed next to me on the bus
  • a bad can opener who laughs at me and my last can of beans
  • after a poetic dump, a brown roll looks back at me and waves

 

PhilosopherPoet

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Philosophy, poetry

there is a god in my head

there is a god in my head
cold notions scrape against
the cement of the mind

he sways from slumber
with a dark fist

there is a god in my head
voices crawl through cables
neurons heavy with history
synapses
writhe in molten thought

i am the god in my head
emotions scatter in anger
i frighten the fragments
the chaos i sculpt with blind intent
the picture of a weak man
[i refuse to watch]

i brighten timid corners of
my narrow house with the
scalp of a light bulb burning
and the vacant murmur
of callous cutlery

dividing my guilt

 

 

PhilosopherPoet

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poetry

Close the door

Close the door

 

Come inside and close the window

The thick sun is still asleep.

I’m left to lie on aged sheets, that

I grasp in little mounds like children.

 

Come inside but don’t come too close,

I have a tender place I won’t want you

To touch.

I mask it with the reflections

in the window, watching me.

As strange as birds they hover in the

Sunlight, stirring my clammy head.

 

Come inside and feel the carpet

with your naked foot.

Your pink toes prickle, play,

Let go of the music.

 

I have a tender place to touch,

It feels warm as your hand, soft

As your duvet face. I want you

To hold it like the pillow’s shoulder

You cry on

 

Come inside here, close the door.

Feel my creases, come under my lamplight

I’ll tuck you in close to me, where you

Can lie in the shade of my tender place

Swim in the old ripples of my heart

 

The long light touches

the tips of your lips

you are too supple

to touch.

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