cat songyou are so big and I ask you are we brothers
you are a lot older than me so why didn’t I
you know a lot and I don’t know a lot
can I help you be happy
if I help you be happy will you help me be happy
I’m sorry I’m so small
are you listening to me
when I bring you the small prey-bodies with feathers or tails like string
I know they’re not much to you and you think I’m showing off
(here matted fur, there the bloodied beak and still-blinking eyes) darling
it isn't pride, it’s love, I care
and I care that
you are a lot older than me (and much wiser I’m sure)
but nobody ever taught you to hunt properly
(I’m sure that if you knew how you could catch much bigger things than I could)
so please let me teach you if you’ll listen
please I cannot let you go out into the world being
so big but knowing
The Scavenger KingWho crushed these grapes, judging them sweet or sour?
When I was king I had a crown of gold.
Stale wine spreads silt and ashes in my mouth,
Sharp fogginess spreads quick into my bones.
When I was king I had a crown of gold
-en thorns that snatched for my brain 'til I bled;
Knowing my children lived just to grow old
I wept, and marvelled, pulling at my beard
Thorns snatching for my brain until I bled
While my hair, silvering around my ears,
Tangled itself into words left unsaid-
One knot for Hope, another there for Prayer.
My hair wisps silver lies around my ears;
My children do not speak their mother tongue.
These offspring show less mercy than the years.
The world's not how it was when I was young.
Descendants do not speak their mother's tongue.
When I was King, I had a golden throne.
Now if I try to talk, my voice is numbed
And when I manage sleep, I sleep alone.
Procession of the InitiatesDionysus incised into a vase
without proper torsion in
his neck bent so far edgeways
the snap in his spine suggests no difference between artistry and mutilation
you dream of cannibals, wake up
mouth filled with gravy
your daughter's voice distorts the world around it
blocking the fire exits, Eowyn cries
I AM NO MAN
aie, she is bright
a companion of laughter and light when she wants to be
and hell all else
six years as a yellow bird
and she's done no good
but no bad either and that says something
IT'S NOT THE DRINKING IT'S HOW WE'RE DRINKING
gods of wine
fghjkhistorians will tell us that
it was because there was not enough time
for the drugs to work
to empty your coquelicot skull
impaled on the spire of the cathedral the
rednecks are driving too fast
the rednecks are driving too fast
you envy your chest its flatness.
brown as a bell noise
swimming in your chest the sun sets
in the east, rises
in the west.
you tell your mother you're a homosexual and she doesn't care.
you tell your mother you're a communist and an alcoholic schizophrenic and a jihadist muslim and she doesn't care.
you're walking down many avenues
at once and in none of them do the leaves shift before your feet, a sea of red
and with no step do you receive that satisfying
of bone and heart and the frailty
of life, all life, the universal stench of human existence
drying out and flattening to the shape of the hard and soulless pavement, such deep thoughts
you should be writing poetry