Posts Tagged ‘guts’

weirdo

 

Here’s to the wild ones, the weird ones
Who take a crap on the desk at Centrelink with a shit-eating grimace on their faces and demand to be addressed as Jesus Christ
Who go wild on whiskey or whatever and run amuck through the back-alleys and cheap boarding houses of Perth
Who polish their guts with bourbon and stoke their tobacco fires constantly
Who cry out against that military industrial mind-fuck- the consumerist gobbledegook of advertising
Who always know where to get good drugs and how to avoid getting ripped off by other, meaner freaks
Who want to bring down capitalism and Nickleback with a single gesture of flagrant love
Who when captured by the pigs paint a Sistine Chapel of shit all over their cells and gibber like gibbons
Who keep detailed records of the worldwide conspiracy of Masons to achieve world domination by writing on the insides of gum wrappers
Who write their lives all over the public walls of the city in murals that would scare a representative member of society- whatever that is
Who ricochet through late-night hipster bars clad in tattoos and tobacco and get kicked out for questioning the purpose of the universe
Who participate in threesomes with persons of indeterminate gender in the late-night anal darkness
Who plunder the night for kicks and hi-jinks and scare the crap out of the forces of conformity
Who preen and style for fashion darlings in op-shop rags with multiple piercings
As they bless the world, may God bless them all

Advertisements

Men of blood

Posted: April 30, 2015 in poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Blood-drop

Men of blood with poison in their groins
Will bloat blue corpses down the Ganges River
And slake their vapid thirst with liquid sewage
Their skin will dry till it becomes like leather

Men of bone with caterpillars for eyes
Will leak a slime transmogrifying pain
In pearls of pus which stultify the sane
They loom with mouths of razors in my brain

Men of marrow with candles in their thighs
Will watch when archetypal maidens die
And pretend that they know all the other guys
Who helped to kill her with their hate and lies.

Men of veins with cracked and vulgar minds
Draw skulls in blood all over whitened walls
Then scratch their never washed and festering balls
Not knowing they’re a paradigm of these times