Etiqueta: english poetry

“What should I possibly have to tell you, oh venerable one? Perhaps that you’re searching far too much? That in all that searching, you don’t find the time for finding?”
–Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha

  • End Game

    End Game

    “As a child you liked to play spinning tops, dear”, said mum. Not so long after being a child, “I’d rather trade the spin for drugs”, she thought. The top that spins is like Coke, nobody sees it though there it is, spinning. The sequence of the circumference that follows are sleepless days, sleepless nights,…

  • I’m done

    This is my final statement. Note to self: this is not it. I am not alone. I am enough. The easy way out does not exist. Behold I stand in my writer’s chair, holding an invisible dagger against my throat. The needle in my hay. This cure for the common cold has nothing to do…

  • Moscow Mule

    John Doe was a humble man. A blue-collared worker with a restless hand. Worked in a highway, east end 102. Sealing roads, chopping stone with a dumb’s man ox. Down home, laid. He’d play pool, act too cool for school. Come Johnny go get that fuel the one you get from a pill, coloured blue.…

  • My generation

    Nation populated by one. *** A radiant child, is an easy mark. So I’ve mastered the art and become a child that’s vicious. The devil’s touch now ain’t suspicious. *** Preachers say furies are at home. And home is where most injuries occur. Land of the wounds carved by those we trust the most. ***…