Tag: prose poetry

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The Avalanche Effect

The story of the suitcase was true, but the painting wasn’t in it. Oh, well. Things progress when there’s a mistake. The next 48 hours are going to be crucial. Don’t mess with women who are into gore. I haven’t the slightest doubt that my own relatives planned to kill me. It’s too awful here. Yesterday we heard something that sounded like rocks being unloaded from a dump truck. Those were gunshots. I stepped outside to take a look and saw descendants of Marcel Duchamp selling snowballs on the street. (more…)

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Pub has four doors. Two cold, one above leads to the Arctic, the other below to the Antarctic. The left hand door leads to the hot Western Desserts of icecream mountains and cookie crevasses, the right hand door to the warm Eastern Aperitifs of Lychee Lakes and Squid forests.

The proprietor of Touch Screen is Trans always on the way to somewhere else. Some folk say Trans is asexual, others know better. Talk to Trans the eyes are always somewhere else. Ask Trans directions and the place you knew is never the same. Everyone is a different person after the conversation. (more…)

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America Is a Desert of Drugs Where the Only Water Tastes Like Antifreeze

I’m plunked on an Adirondack Chair on my back deck and it’s Friday night
Three weeks sober
I hear that if you make it to 90 days then you’re onto something
I also hear airplanes in the sky speaking in tongues
It’s finally summer here
Or at least it feels like it

Carly’s inside lying on the couch watching House of Cards
Tom’s sitting across from me writing poetry on my laptop
There’s this half-dead tree staring at me
Half of it covered in leaves that blow when there’s coke in the air
The other half just branches with buds never smoked
I’m not too sure which is the better half

And those planes overhead
They’ll be dropping people off at airports I’ll probably never see
Lovers I’ll never taste, baggage I’ll never have
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Child, Bestiary

 

Whilst in the gulag house you nurslings turned your eyes from humans. You’d seen enough of the taxidermist’s tactics, stuffing infant skins with malignant demon spirits. You looked up. Witnessed a constellation of neon, the zoological firmament of the zodiac system. Heard the barks of the antique beasts of the stratosphere, saw the claw, clavicle and femur reach of the bestial corpus in the gaping heavens above. Stretched your gangrene forms out wide in your star-pools of blood. Some days, in your ardour you were Cancer. Others, you was Delphinus, fathoms deep in afterbirth. You’ve been Draco the dragon, Monoceros the unicorn. In the folktale of your fawnhood you swore that you shall return starward before you’ll ever become adults. (more…)