Fiddling

Stuff that flits through my brain.

Cliché

Poetry in motion

Poetry at rest

Poetry in all its forms

Is nothing but a jest.

Two’s Company

I am going to my death.

Are you going to my death?

Deal

I have an empty head

And an overactive brain.
Infamy and idolatry
Can be one and the same.

Zero Summer

The supply of smiles

   Is infinite.

If I give you one,

Not to worry—

   No-one else will be deprived.

Exhaustion

Takes the brain

To its outer fringes

Leaving the pen

Free to wander

As it chooses.

On Again, Off Again

You, me

And Death makes three.

When daylight fades

Together we’ll be.

Call Me

Professional Tormented Soul.
Is that a job description?

O, Misanthrope 

When it accepts you,

The world is wonderful.
When it shuns you,
The world is an absolute, rotting bastard.

A Little Nuts

Who are you?
I did not exist
  Until today.

       I think I may be
       Losing my mind.

The Cellar

Throw things into me.

They will fester and grow like fungi.

You will not know them when they emerge.

Moment

We are now making a brief stop

At the rest of your life.

The doors

On the left side
Will open

      …If you can figure out

          How to make the damned things work.

Spellcheck

Chronological belligerence

Narcissistic absorption

Pragmatism

Once I collect a soul,

What do I do with it?

  I don't believe in tortoises
  I don't believe in sheep
  I don't believe in animals
  That mumble in their sleep.

I don't believe in tablecloths
I don't believe in lint
I don’t believe in xylophones

Or the works of Gustav Klimt.

  I don't believe orangutans
  I don't believe giraffes
  I don't believe those lying pricks
  They'll fuck with you for laughs.

I don't believe in unicorns
I don't believe in glue

I don't believe believing things
Can alter what is true.

  Unless, of course, what I believe

  Makes me act better toward you.