Assorted poetry that must be put to art

A lot of these old books

Sadden me

And when you passed them

They would choke in noiseless air

 

Imbibed with solemnity

Corners unkempt

Their demise interwoven

With your elapsed reverie

 

I read something the other day

Letters shovelled ingloriously

In the pillowcase

Bereft of sense, they had forgot you

______________

A warm caress of morning bereavement

She would not be thinking or would have forgot

Green skin wrapped round discoloured tobacco

Working hours, a focus of tender myopia

 

A more possessive case

Reflected opposite

_____________

He possessed a nickname

Which is cause enough

For a resentment held dear

To manifest and make a stomach turn

 

Lubricated painkillers

Inserted with tepidity into narrow gullet

A melancholic prescription

For rabid angst and sexual fervour

 

Swallowing in such a fearless way

Sucking her lips

Dented by prescription

His nickname was longer than his name

_______________

Over lost planes of bored desires

We lost our way indefinitely

Audacious in the tedium

Little respite, little heaven

Chewing constant

Breath weak

Strong only in the lost planes

Of bored desires

_____________

Stuffed tablecloth down trachea

Other orifices accounted for

Swollen bottleneck, a dim impasse

Chew, chew, chew

 

Cavity wall knocked through

Clutters throat

Foaming canines let loose

Chew, chew, chew

 

Time spoken for

Discarded skeleton key

Eternal lockjaw

He missed the ideal breakfast

__________________

Crashing hands on turgid flesh

Loose movements given away

To susceptible breaks of mechanic limbs

Coloured canvas drawn by violet splutter

 

No rope burn, but unbearable heat

Protagonists split

By humanity and decision

Fallen hands, given rest

 

The cuts of tenderised meat

Amalgamated with brush stroke

Jostle and burrow under straw

Separate, not together

__________________

When one lives with such carefree abandon and lack of inhibition

There will be times, with great inevitably

Of extreme insecurity, great worry

And ultimately unrelenting sadness

 

The trick I assume is not to worry

And laugh at the juvenile nature

Which one had held dear

But not to forget it

______________

You’d be lucky

To find a physician

To do such a thing

Such a grisly procedure

 

Your talents as an actress

Have overwhelmed your senses

Your humanity

Your love of persons

 

To play a part

Your slender frame cannot suffer

The indignity of swollen fruit

So you are a murderer

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Published by

Joseph Owen

PhD, Carl Schmitt, Modernism and Sovereignty at University of Southampton

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