Monday, August 6, 2012


Lord Dunsany


come close 
hit this pipe
nice
i own all that 
you can see
stones piled
on stones
the heather
and gorse
my idle days:
dreaming
of faeries
mounting
each other
and shitting
in the
dark 
autumn
fields.


Drawl

I would fuck your ghost. 
So much beauty from the loins of a bullethead
Like cake from a dungheap
Auburn shagged
A barbarian Blue Fugate
Escaped into chaos:
/the Salish Sea human foot discoveries/
/the world overrun/
by typical-teenage-cryptic-response-mystery-conversationalists
and /chicken culture wars./
I would garrote your ghost.
Hold you close--puffing ectoplasm
Frigid filmy vowels
Drawn from your mouth
Like strings
Longer and longer and longer and longer.