Posts Tagged ‘ghost’

 

colinbarnettA collection of discombobulated dreams won’t bring the government down

A miscellany of lesbian porn won’t bring the government down

A torrent of sharp toothed snakes won’t bring the government down

A pile of dirty washing won’t bring the government down

A vast herd of guinea pigs won’t bring the government down

A raging ravaging fire won’t bring the government down

A gibbering ghost won’t bring the government down

A philandering platypus in cargo pants won’t bring the government down

A transient burst of noxious gas won’t bring the government down

An avalanche of unreconstructed mens rights activists won’t bring the government down

A hurricane of hooligans armed with dildos won’t bring the government down

But dropping a shitload of poetry books on Colin Barnett’s head might bring the government down

 

 

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succubus_full

languidly he lies in bed
triumphant conquests history
sweaty nights of frenzied sleeplessness
alone in an empty bed with his filth
inside hollow inside dead
shit-stained sheets
cum-stained doona
morbid laughter lines of sorrow in sheet wrinkles
gallons of insomnia
rivers of awakening
a presence at the end of the bed sits pensively
incubus succubus
dead within and without
translucent spirit
crouching to pounce lasciviously
and assimilate
sleep-body to ghost-particles
the horror
translate to intricate aramaic utterances
the horror
sucking out the sauce of life
vacuum soul ether-pump frenzy then
dead-weight adorns the rotten mattress
bloated corspse-flesh
decomposing to maggot-mush
and onward unto bone
once again alone

dthomas

The mask and myth of the man contain magic
As the old man fades and consciousness burns
The mask and myth of the man contain magic
No ghost within- no homunculus pulling levers

The mask is impervious to sanity and shame
Embraces drunken hours and stolen kisses
With wild red-lipped wanton women in seedy bars and clubs
The mark of the man is the power of myth

The myth of the man leaves the old man lost inside
Alone and hollow like a broken bulb
The old man rots, the old man dies
While myth and mask grow stronger outside

The mask and myth of the man contain magic
The myth is debauchery, decadence and power
Wine and wild women and punk rock enthusiasm
The mask and myth of the man contain madness

So long worn the mask cannot be moved
The mask and myth of the man contain madness
The man now the mask has nothing inside
Personality blended with extravagant creation
The myth and the man have nothing to hide

rohingya

We are the least of human beings
Less human than the dirt beneath your feet
We are unloved and persecuted
From birth to unremarkable death
The Buddhists lock us in a ghetto
Unless we have the money to bribe them
If we have no money they beat us
There is no food
There is no water
There is no school for the children
There is no hope
They took us from our village
Those that the Buddhists didn’t kill
And locked us up next to the sea
Hanging off the land in a noose of persecution
Then the people smugglers come
And offer to take us away
And we have no choice
We give them what little we have
We spend hungry, thirsty days at sea
Then we arrive in Thailand near the border
The people-smugglers begin to torture us with bamboo
They tell us to call our relatives and ask for money they don’t have
Then if they do not pay up we are dead
Our women are raped and murdered, our men and children are murdered
Our ghosts will wail among our bones
Our ghosts will watch you while you sleep

sylvia

There’s a foetus crawling up my leg
It has no pupils and eyes as white as an aspirin,
Vestigial limbs, no finger or toes
There’s a foetus crawling up my leg
Translucent skin- I see every purple vein in an infinite intricate network
It’s covered in mean-green festering slug-slime
There’s a fucked-up foetus crawling up my leg
I think it’s hungry
I thought I heard it whisper my name
There’s a fucked-up foetus with fangs crawling up my leg
Perhaps it’s a vampire
But not one of those wussy twinkly ones from Twilight
Perhaps it’s a badass like the ones from Buffy
There’s a fierce fucked-up foetus with fangs crawling up my leg
If I’m lucky, it will drink my blood
If I’m not it will also eat my brain
There’s a fierce fucked up foetus with fangs crawling up my inner thigh
I hope it’s just a dream
Or an acid flash-back
Maybe it’s a ghost
Maybe it’s a ghoul
Maybe it’s a succubus
Maybe it’s an incubus
Sylvia, Sylvia- is it one of your demon children?
Sylvia, Sylvia- did you see it too in 1963?
Sylvia, Sylvia- did it leave scars on your succulent body?
Sylvia, Sylvia- did you see it when you stuck your head in the oven?
Sylvia, Sylvia- does it still haunt you now?
Sylvia, Sylvia- Have you met your Nazi Daddy?
Because ‘Every woman adores a fascist’
Sylvia, Sylvia- I hope you’ve mellowed out in fifty years- you suffered so much
But you made sadness and death so gothically intricately beautiful
Sylvia, Sylvia- I think I love you