Monthly Archives: November 2013

Transmitter

The studio is our bunker. We surface from time to time for cigarettes, for air. It is a long way past midnight and it is January. The steam rises from us when we step outside… via Transmitter. Advertisements

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My Assumption

I took no points When the judges yawned and stretched But I placed a bet Against my own success So I guess I’ve won Enough To get A pack of smokes A bottle of Fair wine

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Reprisal

I confronted youAs dying men confrontThe necessity of death You know, I confronted youWith not a hope of victoryAnd not a chanceOf a positive result I simply stoodAnd stared at youAnd waitedFor the next move And you glared at meAnd … Continue reading

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Transmitter

This one is even new…   The studio is our bunker. We surface from time to time for cigarettes, for air. It is a long way past midnight and it is January. The steam rises from us when we step … Continue reading

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October 2001

This is one I wrote about three years ago, and is entirely autobiographical – perhaps one of my more notable teenage adventures. It was actually pretty hard to write because I still feel terrible about what I put my Mother … Continue reading

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Disgusted Youth

You saw Friedrich Stop as he was hit And Mahlmann Lost both legs And wept And screamed Until he passed away   You saw Children Bombed and burned alive And you saw My friends Turned into Ash And Dust   … Continue reading

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League

Ten thousand leagues Beneath the scarlet sea Is somewhere Always fictional to me   I live my life In some way In some sense And a terrible loss A sentence served   I look into the woman’s eyes She’s quite … Continue reading

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A marvelous medieval Monday window

Originally posted on What Light Through Yonder Window Breaks?:
A beautiful example of bullseye glass and a medieval window in the church of Stadtpfarrkirche, or St John’s, in the city of Rapperswil, Switzerland / Julie Cook / 2012

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Fragments from “Diatribe”

Scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours, yeah, nails drawing blood down to the bone, friend of mine. That’s the way it goes, you need to draw blood and I need to lose some, so scratch away. Scratch at my … Continue reading

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A Good Man

Sad guns Weeping bullets Making errors Killing Everyone They ever saw   I know This feels Like it’s the end But, darling These guns weep Forevermore   We took The heroes out to die They flinched But did not turn … Continue reading

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