slither softly so to surpass the sleep-
ing dragon, through the gate he’ll bark, snarling
a heavy hollow bark with sleepy eyes
and hungry teeth, ravenous but he will not
bite through the gate, he cannot so long as
he is not awake; keep face as a snake
and slither, softly, for a snake is no
match for this almighty beast.

walks on tiptoes; an arachnid of sorts
with ballet legs and great white jaws sinks its
teeth beside the collar of your jacket,
unfastening the buttons to expose
a healthy beat beat beat but the shame creeps
in, carressing a bare torso, looking;
searching for the fat in which to feast.

forgive me mum but it’s begun;
frustration’s taken hold,
behold!

been sitting here
a day or year
just waiting to get old…

blood-shot eyes again,
you comprehend?
no **** she’s on the ***

and grasp that ballpoint pen,
again
I hope she’s got a plot

I'm quite sorry
no plot for me,
I’m simply not that able

I’ll spit some views,
I’ll sip some *****,
make poems out of fables

it’s really not that
interesting,
but something in me’s beckoning

to write write write!
so I’ll write write write
while you sleep and work and eat and live;

I won’t eat or sleep or work
I live
to write write write
and I write to live

you put peace signs over bullet holes,
you kissed the wounds and you prayed;
oh you prayed!
you said darling, it’ll be O.K.
they laughed because they ******* knew
it would never be O.K.
(oh they'd make **** sure of that)
didn’t you put petunias in pistols?
and you sang and you danced and
begged
give love a chance!
yeah, times of true romance.
well my little flower child
you're all grown up, flavourless,
mild;
I'm looking but
where are you now?
(come back because we need you now)

curious to distinguish that which resides within us; defined so greatly by our flesh and the colour of our fingernails and what’s underneath our blouses or the size of his



wallet.
but to figure out yourself is to figure out the universe.

curious as our species is, our species yearns to advance
(quickly!)
and in that acquires indolence.

                                                     ­                            [one home
                                                            ­                      one source
                                                          ­                        one try]

like black molasses, poison gases;
curious as to which race our race is running.
but to figure out the meaning is to figure out yourself.


the blueprints left of thou are hidden in plain sight;
the blueprints left of thou are hidden in the planes (see it)
are hidden in the mountains,
are hidden in the trees.
o’ rotten heavens, fill our souls with waste but veil the orders that you’ve written:

what happens when we renounce?
*to figure out the universe is to figure out the meaning.

you looked pretty standing there
in your white spaghetti straps; your skin sort of glowed the way sunlight hits tree bark and I could see your smile radiating through the dark.
you looked pretty at midnight
with a beer in your hand, hazy eyes and all
the boys staring.
you looked pretty when laughter came, as you spilled your drink all over the floor and I helped you clean it up.
you looked pretty until you opened your mouth;
all of the prettiness vanished and it looked as though you were never really pretty at all.
you looked pretty until your words lain naked in bed with me and I saw them for what they were;
barren, cold and empty
and in that there is no beauty.

oh I don’t know what to write right now
the words are jumbled in my head,
I think they’re stuck somewhere between
my frontal lobe and I’m not good at biology
and they’re becoming overrun by
Cops on the TV
and you chit-chatting,
blah, blah, blah-ing in the corner of the couch
with your plain ruffle chips
and the switch switch switch
of the channels on the television;
you never could make up your mind.

I really don’t know what I’m thinking, now
my vocabulary has vanished in thin air
and did you know Houdini’s straight jacket
is now worth four plus four zeroes?
I know, I know
the insanity!
perhaps it’s a sign, I should be locked up
so I could never charlie horse you when
you **** me off or hide under the covers
when it’s rainy or question the sense
of reason of humanity,
how ironic!
oh, I don’t know what to write.