Friday, October 31, 2008


He was a burgeoning misfit and sinking morass,
A growing maniac
That any and all could see
Could not be hindered,
He was a worry to his family
And a blot on the reports and repartee that
Self-appointed experts or his fading friends might make
That ought to please, yet nothing pleased...

Spectacular moonbeams like monograms on the wane
And steeped in wine, robust movements
Of comfortable pillows
On top of twisted mangled bowels,
Tawdry dreams and lacklustre schemes
And the old bitch science, who's failing
Each and every one of us
And falling down, from grace in drag,
On Tuesdays and every Friday...
It has all squashed my resistance now
And heaped up this poverty of appetites
Until every lick of poetry in the bowl
Is more sticky and more satisfying
Than oatmeal on lumber that's never sweet,


  1. Hello!!! I am back, remember me?

    Hope you are fine:)

    find me in Skype: negin.zh

  2. I remember you, but haven't used (and remain ignorant of) skype. Hope you've been well.


Abandon hope, all ye who enter here! (At least put on your socks and pants.)