Brighton is the closest
to Brexit than anywhere
in Britain so why not
Bring a Breton sample
and stop Brainwashing
to Brake the Brackets
that Braggarts Brag in
Brainless Bravado of
Bribery that is Brewing
by Bricking the tunnel
thus Bridling Brittle Brows,
with Brutal Brush-offs
Bruising Brotherly love.

ps.

EXIT via the backstop.

Where do I begin?
to take this miscarriage of thought
and feeling
from my reeling mind to the calm accepting page
where do I begin?
shall I attempt to harness the beast
which dwells within
bridling the pain and upset of life
domesticating it and making it my own
or do I begin again?
to exorcise that pit of my soul
to reach into the cold dark chasm
binding that which haunts me to the sacrificial language
placing it upon the alter as a gift
a barter for redemption
where do I begin?
to understand
this beautiful curse of heartfelt song
contracted through love
triggered by heartbreak
a blistering sore of emotion
insatiable and incurable

I’ve never swallowed
this type of burning before,
but now here I am, late at night,
with my skin bridling itself open
like chalked lungs.

The hardest parts about this are:
learning what it means to no longer
be half of myself and waiting
for the day when I can look
into the mirror without firing
apart the deep wells of my gut.

Now I am carefully inspecting
my casualties, teaching myself
that I cannot be casual without
turning away pieces of myself
until I am small tornadoes, i.e.,
no waist and no fire.

Creativity and ambition is real
And the feeling of risk and intelligence
Are asking for damnation please, placidly
Birds among many things that chirp around your soul that wakes up the dead
Cheering up the party with the talk of apartheid, black and white
Competition is the last word, and talk of lost causes and intellectuality
Est mir leid
I'm up in my knees with Bukowski, they call me old-school Burroughs, the Kerouac rings in the philosophical Barry Manilow
Barry Levinson, please don't make my death bed, you're plot points make sense ambivalently too in case I touch upon Bacchus
The dichotomy of the bridling ***, I suppose you switched with the surface of the country full of dunes and locusts
The swamp of the divorcee storm saves it for the orgie and the promiscuous dollar ride and melee

Thine ever-faithful children born
Amidst thy mirthful knoll and lawn,
Rippling rivers, bubbling brook,
Known in tale and glee and book.

Made up of kith and kin alike,
Bridling horse or riding bike.
Be it by lake or under tree,
This people surely known to Thee.

Folk which temper from hewn rock,
Few have known more hardened stock,
Though brother-wars and streams of blood,
They fought gale and raging flood.

To whom owe we our yore so long?
Carved buildings and pretty song,
A stead of kings and noble lords,
Standing firm with swords and boards.

From glacial seas of Northern hearths,
To scorching plains and bloodied sparths.
Traditions range from meal and brick,
Tilling soil and healing sick.

Rich glories befall this folk,
Crafting metal, stone and yoke.
Humble start of pain and ill,
Overcome by might of will.

Where does it end, our precious land?
Warding foes from sea and sand.
Those granted gifts from bloodied mitts,
Forebears strengthened by their wits.

In many ways those heroes fell,
Sharpened axe or fired shell.
Unmatched fury in the soul,
Evelandish men with rage like coal.

Stand once again, O noble folk
Let not this foe thee string and choke.
Recall the glory of thy yore,
Richest lord or begging poor.

My Europa, ever-Queen,
Snowy peaks and hilltops green.
A thousand tongues which touch thine ears
Ripened over untold years.

So all tales come to be,
Yore’s unending symphony.
Taking in its last drawn breath,
No mighty cry... but silent death.

I mean the rain you drop in my voice
like a cloth cut by scissors, bridling its mare
and my hand sniggering in lust
though a smell of a banana

in an old part of this city, all alone
in hotel rooms and on brass beds
dirtiest hours of my face
a sartor with winter night face.


Koray Feyiz
(Translated from Turkish by Koray Feyiz)

noting notions as a *** boils over
I'm standing dead still
still in the jig, just clinking
plodding soil as expectants fold in
popped then flicked it
pleasant patina of the mechanism
ceramic pulses in useless scripture
miracle unclipping of a dorsal fin
spectators stack irrelevances in several heaps
haphazard riptides in shared seas of subjection pull dully
slipping through and about subtle reactants
bridling a flood, lock sabotage
nil for a filter, sending catalysts roaring into battle
eating wartime victories and empty advice to be immersed in humility
gifted in living the suffering of the freedom of bearing suffrage
warring wingtips against space edges with abruptness

You make life my desirable
You take my Thursdays and turn them darker
You turn every other day more colorful, and except green returns
We take turns smoking celadon and takoyaki in pots of bridling heat
Hues of a different scenery can change my climbing ladders
And the serene and hundreds of men that live in honesty
Hiding behind trees, and members of the clan
And the camels and deserts sands, change their thirst for water
Like the chameleon, tha climbs for the spider
In a cobweb and a truncheon thing called dishonest cenacles
A group of murders and murderous men, both have a mystery
And enigmatic dirges, that how we die with the faraway celestial bodies
We airbrush strokes in our starlight madness, someday in this carefree heart

Looking back my life was full of fears
Watching weeping angles with no tears

Trapped in a body so full of harm
bridling wild horses in a barn

Now the clouds are clearing I see my future ahead
Loneliness laying on your death bed

I’ll take the path that looks well-trod  
Hand in hand with the son of god

Drive-bys on the road
**** your darlings
I will put sunshine your shoals
Be on the shore of doubt, as we move to seas
The crossing distance between the hiatus and cars
Trailer park homes seem welcoming, in this jungle of fire
My heart's one and only desire is to love you
I hope I don't get lost in the wrong pyromania
Maniacal as it may seem, I want your conscious mind for me
To make my important decisions, relatable if it is
We will breathe with the breeze that freezes in between
Lost at the heralds of the emerald sea, shining like cerulean waters
I'm not sure, I want the fire of desire or the waters of peregrination
Journeyman follow my command, I guess I asked too much of you
Or of your lost hope, in this drowning breeze that flows in eddies and currents
Love is just a flowing desire, fluid like water and sordid like fire
The feeling is on fire, and the desire's the only real thing
I can't generalize really, you make the conclusive evidence of my lovely concepts
You're sure, that's me or you, in this world of roundabout cities and largest dreams
Circumference of this ring of fire is which is perfectly wrapped around my ring finger
Is this the old me, or am I looking for old ways
Passing through stores, and running looking for summer kool-aid
This summer smells nice, so does the stagnant dreams
Waiting to flower like blossoming buds, in a collection of hanging things
I'd list these thesis items down, but, they're too educated for my taste
It's my light, and shining it on the wrong people, is pretty much how a broken flashlight works
Words rhyme inadvertently with some intention, insane isn't it
That you agree with others and tell children to sit down
Might and dry winds change these crossing starry-eyed loner stoners
I base myself to disabuse the **** out of every situation
But, it's not in my purchasable items
Looking for weights to carry, and burdens too run away with
No machine, am I, I am dead just like the onus that can be apolitical at times
Love them two times
Love them three times
They just seem to fade with the count, like natural numbers
Patterned and woven like dreadlocks of legendary pathos
Little did I know, to do what I say as the money keeps me awake
That's the logic I follow, it's a statement without purpose
Bridling pots, I can't relate
The time's changing, so that's what they say?
This **** is cooked and raw, at the same time
Like woks on earth's water and fire, fiefdom asks for too much
Pertinently I ask for their grace
With petulance, I ask for favors
These aren't a few of my favorite things, at least they are temporary