Style vs Substance
Some poems and some attempts at poetry.
And our song begins to call out In soft minor keys Tonight children will die! Tonight children will die!
They are celebrating a murder whooping and cheering like New Year’s or the Champions League like fresh death takes the sting out, makes old death softer, somehow sweeter
Embellish his name clean it polish it shine it up just a little bit please reach down pull it from the mud- isn't that the kindest thing a person could do? say something
It's going to take more than a bloody bunch of grapes you say you care though. They will sit there going yellow. Neon fat with sugar. Bursting their skins flirting with fruit flies. Sweet
One thousand five hundred and twenty nine products to clean your sink Five thousand, two hundred and seven brands of toothpaste I am not satisfied.
What do you see, a feeble figure? Urinating in the bed Brittle ribs fractured by resuscitation. Plastic and alien, all tubes and beeping.
We are here because we are naughty. We are here to make good. Georgie went and shacked up with her man. But oh dear. Didn't do her Change of Circumstances did she?
Maria She was born in a Mexican prison Nestled at the breast, her mother cursing cockroaches in the dark. She was taken and raised by the nuns in the convent courtyard she closed her eyes,
He's round the back smoking crack with underage girls Writing heartache manifestos we'll roll up our sleeves and say “bloody” smiling on production lines holding up his little red box.