Poem: The Deathless Horsie


These horses have been ridden too long,
Tired and hoof-worn, their muscles replaced
With pistons, bones and ligaments composed
From robot cartilage, cold horror of sci-fi dawn,
Samplers to speak where they used to sing,
Erectile sensors signalling to their hairs,
They can gallop, now, on interference waves,
New god muscles to give them motion,
And new equine umbrellas, to keep them
From short-circuiting in the rain

If androids dream of electric sheep,
Then my nightmares are of cyber-horses,
Animals trapped in digital code,
Kept alive perpetual as computer slaves

Everything is your pet now,
If you can’t eat it, then it must entertain you,
Slave into wires to prove its value

No joy of flogging a dead horse breathless,
When all our horses are cabled and deathless

Translation: The Albatross, by Baudelaire


Sailors, oft times, for amusement,
Capture albatrosses, those birds of majesty,
That follows their ship in idle bemusement,
Gliding o’er the bitter abysm of the sea

Falling to the deck, deprived of his flight,
This King of the Sky who once freely soared,
Maladroit, and ashamed, his wings large and white,
Drag along the deck like water-logged oars

This winged voyager, cruelly taunted by sailors,
Formerly majestic, now crawls like a freak,
They mime the limp of this desolate flyer,
And annoy it by sticking a pipe in its beak

The Poet suffers just like this flock-swaddled king,
By archers insulted and tempests-tossed,
Prevented from walking by his giant white wings,
He is jeered at, isolated, exiled, and mocked

Poem: Sky Warrior


Buzzard, not the smartest of birds,
Your intelligence is in your instinct,
The lust of your programming

Euclidean geomestrist – the sky’s tawny compass,
Hunter of circles,
Shaper of predation

Inside you is a leopard,
Feathered, yet unfrantic,
Space-stabbing cries,
A sky warrior’s dialect

You have read all the lexicons,
All the grammarians of hunger,
And many scholars still worship
The cold stupidity of your fortitude

A weaponized wing,
A crow-taunting thing,
A heart-chaffing nest
To catch the clarity of spring


Morchid’s Lament (Nihilist Anthem)


There is always something unpleasant to be shut out,
Cultivate a blind-spot – smother your doubts –
Hold that etherized rag over the lips of your conscience,
For what good can you do anyway?

There is always something to be swept under the rug,
If you don’t like the bug – just kill the bug,
It doesn’t matter if ecologist’s call you a thug,
For what good can they do anyway?

A healthy society is built on repression,
Side effects include: frustration – depression,
Your heart has no need to make a confession,
For what good would it do you anyway?

Medicated entertainment can drown it out,
Help ignore the nuzzle of the long black snout
Belonging to the demon ever sniffing you out,
For what good might you have been anyway?

You’re older now – all past passions are numb,
You have no more feelings to which to succumb,
You could have sung loudly – but you chose to stay dumb,
For what good would it have done anyway?
For what good would you have done anyway?


Poem: Anger Seed

anger rose

Anger is a hard, fiery stone,
The pointed, jagged teeth of war,
Stampede of horse in blood-tarred mud,
Wasp stung trapped mad in marrow bone

Drama thirst of fucking drama queen,
Simpering megaphone of all your hurt,
I speak to you, cold and curt,
To restrain the pain that might have been

Cauldron of ire, simmering long,
Taut hard verses of vicious song,
Subdue the beast – the foaming maw,
Excise the tumour of righteous law

Warm stone, now cold, in graveyard lies,
Buried in soil, cold and wet,
In the zone of sweet forget,
To seal the place my anger dies