Wednesday 7 December 2016


Portal to the Poetus

Yonder but so near, the applicants fear

Only the fact of strangeness. Make strange and scream

Under the marsh a marvellous march towards broken

Foreign friends. Will you lean your orange skull close to lap

Up the accolades from corrupt acolytes?

Can you hear our ears ring?

Kill the breath on the inhale. Whole lives gasp at your

Intellect. We worry about the chambers’ echoes.

New day dawns. Big eagle yawns and stretches,

Gulps a pigeon down, stands in profile, one eye sees all,

Dives down and lands

In your hair, a nest now for more than bad ideas.

Clap on, clap off, the boast past the flapped mouth.

Kindly lean your orange skull close, false king: Free

Will will rig the sun to burn

A fresh trapdoor in the safety net.

Drop down the hole into your hand-hewn robots’ hold.

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