Poetry
By the-real-jaw
- 72 reads
The Parasite Pities Its Host
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- 30 reads
The Freshness of the First and Foremost of the Finest of the Lines
All philosophies condense to a line, with time, and all songs dwindle to a single sooty melody and even if you sawed the locks off your senses even...
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- 43 reads
god's mess
I stepped into my shadow I sank into the techno hole edged by neon fronds against a blood-red sky under the falling beating of the Great Hammered One...
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- 31 reads
manic epiphany in new york city
deep in the shining circulatory system of this sexless giant, she has found that reality is a thirty-four dimensional version of the moebius strip:...
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- 34 reads
existing in theory
the boy who never climbed down to define himself became a man who can’t make words explain who can’t make even a comma exclaim who turns in place one...
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- 32 reads
The Chief Managing Director Has a Few Requests
I I want a dirtier sunset with tar and molten waste Got it? Give me sewer pipes that spew and rusty black scaffolding dewed with distillate of...
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- 52 reads
Death's Daughter (I)
I pilgrimaged to see her titanic head floating against a skyline of shampoo bottles, then swam up through black hair and climbed into her ear. A...
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- 41 reads
going up
in broken water trees bend until their knees touch the ground above the blazing and the bloody crown of the day fading in the city’s glass flanks...
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- 35 reads
cradled over cold rails into the 21st century
Hello, I’m Stef-Stef Whacket, and I come from your planet, just another sperm walking this flooded toilet, frankensteined from genetic alphabet and...
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- 70 reads
check reality
I’ve been up days talking god down from his tree, scraping my skullsides for more sky, and now, eating beans from the tin, I await dawn,...
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- 94 reads
dancing in a cage wheeled through a forest of eyes
Outdoors the air is hostile and nervy, it bothers glam willows and the swan navy, and me, a slug hunched in a shell jacket, haunting the canal and...
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- 89 reads
no more poems
I Stefan White, 30, semi-husband, dishwasher, and nightguarder, sometime exultant worder, highgummed hypercritic, and microscopic king of nothing,...
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- 45 reads
help
I would leap any height to impress you, throw every word I know at you, insinuate virtues and devalue worlds, all so I can bask in my own...
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- 33 reads
homeward
It’s as if every word I write were a step in the massive journey toward myself, but not necessarily in the right direction. In the long hunt for...
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- 39 reads
O O
way back at the beginning of time all reality except us was a cold corporate hallway and her body was my daily bread we made the trees shout before...
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- 52 reads
you
okay let’s see you’re in debt your significant other left you for a profile pic you feel most alive when you’re on drugs I know you you failed the...
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- 33 reads
the way out
And I do, solemnly, with these words, on this 330th day of January, restore myself. The burned and frozen me. The sore uneternal hairy me. The wormy...
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- 58 reads
mantra for learning to write
I see myself seeing. I hear myself hearing. I feel myself feeling. Why? To see sounds. To feel smells. To hear feelings. To taste sight.
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- 65 reads
growing down
I scorned myself to pieces, turned against the sun, denied the moon, and tossed us in the trash, convinced it was pressing and necessary to say NO,...
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- 32 reads
Death's Daughter (II)
I married my favourite audience, a Victorian ghost with charcoaled eyes, all black skirts and sad classical music, and put her to bed for a year. I...
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- 60 reads
Death's Daughter (III)
It seemed she’d outsmarted madness, then one twilight she disrobed to greet the Lord— as a favor to me, she did not look into His ravening face. But...
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- 37 reads
and the problem is
nevermind it’s all caved in and I just don’t want to restore the walls again I would rather be rained on aware that once I leave this rotting palace...
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- 34 reads
Rise and Fall of the One-Man Empire
I unsolved a few mysteries (a good night’s work) then strutted the morning streets with a candle in my head, half-believing that everyone was...
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- 346 reads
To the Woman in Pursuit
be careful what you ask of me: I deify the street at dawn tearstricken and pull down statues but only my own and honestly just the way you look at a...
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- 38 reads
Death's Daughter (epilogue)
The phone. She was crying, unsure who she was or what she knew. God had stopped dropping in for tea. She had flown to her preacher dad, who bolted...
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- 55 reads
Some Days Even Water Gives Me a Hangover
but here I lean swigging black beer listening to colleagues diss cocaine and curse and reminisce about the binges of yore every drink hardens my...
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- 57 reads