the bells in the chapel sounded
do you love me.
I found god, the devil, narcotics and heaven in situ.
areas close to the Grimsvotn volcano were plunged into darkness.
and the day passed without further recourse, without further comment.
May 22, 2011
written a year and two months ago – a revisit
off the cuff
Most of the greatest poets it seems really are assholes. I believe poets to be highly opinionated egotists bent of displaying to the audience the poet’s mind and naked view, almost a forced voyeurism, of not only the world the poet occupies but the audience that reads them as well. As a poet you must be ballsy and arrogant to even consider participating in the art as an adult as a serious pursuit I mean to say.
hand some women a banana
and they eat it.
Hand it others
and they masturbate on the spot.
off the cuff
but most would talk
about it, indefinitely.
meanwhile, I’ll
sleep as sound as poet in
post
coital recreation
aftermath.
the platitudes of willful resemblance 