Needs some more vernacular.... Mick: (staring at the rusted bloody barbecue)Everything ever created is unique, they say. Look at this thing. Unique my arse. It’s just bent metal, melted knobs and regret. Rhea:Nah mate, that particular pattern of bent metal and regret has never happened before and never will again. Tom:That’s beautiful, that is. Shakespeare,… Continue reading The BBQ
Tag: Poetry
At Night
(after Sorescu, by you) At night,I stop looking at things.They don’t mind.Nothing needs meto hold up the sky. Gravity is very strict. In dreams,I use recycled thoughtsto move through housesI haven’t lived in,with peoplewho didn’t askto be imagined. Light doesn’t enter,but the edges still cut. When I wake up,the world unfolds again,as if it had… Continue reading At Night
Old men
To off put the futility just a little while longer they send youth as fodder for the machine that is paying the wages of sin
Conciousness
had to look that up whatever as things become more complex they become aware of how complex they are. doesn’t mean they ergo sum in the same way but in a way they are the sum.
Ceteris Paribus 