'Twas midnight in the schoolroom
And every desk was shut
When suddenly from the alphabet
Was heard a loud "Tut-Tut!"

Said A to B, "I don't like C;
His manners are a lack.
For all I ever see of C
Is a semi-circular back!"

"I disagree," said D to B,
"I've never found C so.
From where I stand he seems to be
An uncompleted O."

C was vexed, "I'm much perplexed,
You criticise my shape.
I'm made like that, to help spell Cat
And Cow and Cool and Cape."

"He's right" said E; said F, "Whoopee!"
Said G, "'Ip, 'Ip, 'ooray!"
"You're dropping me," roared H to G.
"Don't do it please I pray."

"Out of my way," LL said to K.
"I'll make poor I look ILL."
To stop this stunt J stood in front,
And presto! ILL was JILL.

"U know," said V, "that W
Is twice the age of me.
For as a Roman V is five
I'm half as young as he."

X and Y yawned sleepily,
"Look at the time!" they said.
"Let's all get off to beddy byes."
They did, then "Z-z-z."

Thank you sir, how would you like to pay, firing squad?
-- I beg your pardon?
Nice and quick sir, no mess, comes highly recommended.
Or there's the rotten cotton bungee jump, very popular with our younger customers.
Um, we offer an old fashioned duel with a chieftan tank, there's walking the plank,
And we've just started an in-house hang draw and quarter option with free head impalement.
Exceptional value that one, sir.
Now what else is there, there's the axe in the neck from the man with the hood,
The genuine guillotine experience, the short flight over the ocean with a sharp shove at 15000 feet,
Um, the drag naked through the streets by a crazed horse,...
--Is barclaycard acceptable?
Of course sir, I can offer you a complimentary snake bite with that sir.
--No thank you.
Ok sir, let me offer you this free bladder of wombat spittle mouthwash,
Special promotion till Friday, yours to enjoy.
--I'll take two.
Certainly, excellent sir.
--Is there a cheese shop in the neighbourhood?
Yes sir, finest in the district sir, but if I were you I wouldn't go there sir,
The man who runs it is a bit strange sir.

I love seeing the looks
on the faces of the shopkeepers
in the occult store down the block
sudden surprise
or annoyance
immediately morphing into pleasant
plaster
shop-keep smiles
I don't look like I belong there
they think I'm a tourist
come to gawk at them
or that I'm gift shopping for a
hippie-witch friend
or relative
They have no idea
until I decide to
open my mouth
and tell them what I need
why I'm there
and they hear me use the words
suddenly realize I'm serious
I know what I'm talking about
I know what I'm doing
and they take a step back
and look me up and down
as if to say
Really?
You??

I used to look the obvious occultist
when I was younger
and still learning
passing me on the street
one would've not been at all surprised to learn
that I was a black magickian
Hell
one might've even assumed that
to begin with
just by my outfit
But that was a long time ago
Now to all outward appearance
I could be any other computer nerd
But I'm still a cultist
though a different colour now
I learned the value of
not broadcasting myself
my every intimate personality trait
to anyone who happens to pass me on the street
I learned to pass
as a Normal
as a Mundane
(please don't make me say
"Muggle")
and now no one notices me
I can go about my daily business
and my sorcerous shenanigans
without attracting unwanted attention
without arousing any suspicions
of satanic blood pacts
or ****** sacrifices made
to blind idiot gods
which makes everything so much more
pleasant

But sometimes I forget
that the Me people see
isn't really me
until I see the shopkeeper's face
down at The Magick Box
at Bell, Book, and Candle
at Foxcraft's
at The Crystal Cauldron
or whatever it calls itself today
in this particular town
I'm there to buy a component
some specific mineral
or herb
or root
or ritual tool
or color of candle
required for some particular spell
or sigilization
or pathworking
or ceremony
or casting
Magick is now modern
and so when I need the dried petals
of a rare and deadly Black Lotus blossom
to throw a curse on the drug-dealing ****
who moved in across the street
and keeps threatening my neighbors
for the crime of daring to look
in his direction
I don't need to form an expedition to Tibet
to climb the peak of
the only mountain where it grows
no, I'm an American
other people do the hard work
so I can simply pull out a credit card
and laugh silently to myself
at the look on the shopkeeper's face
that says
What on Earth
does he
want with *that??

I want to write a poem.
No, like I really really really wanna write a poem.
Problem, stick it to me.
Pause
Poems have to be good.
Okay, so a poem doesn't have to be good
However, the point of the art is to have someone read
Those flippy little words that you pulled out
Of some intangible existence and pasted on
The Internet.

The Internet,
So you don't always put it online but,
Other people are "supposed" to read it.
To enjoy it, give you a pat on the back,
Maybe an "I see what you did there".
So poems are supposed to be presentable.
You've got to pay in sweat and ink but,
At least the words themselves are free.

What if I don't wanna have to make a "good" poem?
Okay so I really do want a pat on the back but
Sometimes I really like pasting things from
Intangible existences.
Fancy words right? Let me pat my own back.
Sometimes I just like putting my emotions on paper
While sounding like I read
More dictionaries than Webster.
Ha, ha, sigh.

There's a problem with having to be inspired to write **** down.
Do you think someone pays Taylor Swift's boyfriends
To break up with her
So she can write the
Next big hit?
I wouldn't doubt it.
My guardian angel should make the people around me
Say weird stuff such that I can write about
Walking on waves of shattered glass
Or
Singing of birds in circled flight.
Maybe I'd be better off being hit by a car.
That'd be some pretty touching poetry.

Some people write happy poetry too,
I don't know how they do it.
Sorry but, my world isn't flowers and  butterflies
Enough to warrant discussion of
Staying in the fairy meadow of light.
Sorry, I'm just jealous.

Maybe I just like writing stuff down?
What if I just don't want to be forgotten?
Leaving a legacy in my words more indellible
Than a pat on the back.
Doubt it.

I just don't want to forget.
Brain, why don't you get it?
I'm sitting here getting all intimate with an idea and
The next morning Brain's got no clue what their name is.
Like really, even if we invite a friend over and get creative with
Our tongues and mouths,
Brain doesn't remember the moments shared between us.
Paper doesn't think very well but it's got a decent memory bank.
So I save up for a brand new poem.
I thought words were free.

if i could see
what is hurting me
i'd tell it to stop
for the love of
god

I missed him all weekend
And then
He wasn’t there

I smoke because smoking kills.
-I fancy controlling when I die-
So consider me informed.

(And when you put destroyed lungs
On the packets, it makes me smile.
I’ve seen lungs of healthy people. All black.
One way or another.
Smoking kills and so does everything else.
One more side effect of dying)

And I’d rather know I hold death in my hand
Glowing like the last ember of my days
Glowing red, and consuming me.
I’d rather feel it, this life
Scratching my lungs and clawing my throat
Burning me, making me cough
Knowing I’m responsible
And that for a second, if I die, I know why
I smile, I smile! At the tar coating my lungs
Deliciously, deliriously, I laugh
I laugh at the little death in my hand.

i'm tired
i want to stop running
so
badly

my lungs are flaming
my legs are throbbing
my heart is burning
i'm suffocating
i can't breathe
i
can't
breathe
please
let
me
go
please