Life Sucks (Through a Straw)

Posted in poetry with tags , , on October 22, 2017 by malartart

No tunnel vision, just a black box of entrails

For only cannibals know tomorrow’s contents

The footfall forward looks twice as much as that covered

But if you keep your head in the clouds and your feet in the fields

And eat human flesh regularly, I’m sure everything will work out well

Its normal to look on the worst side of man, unless it’s been seasoned

Grilled, fried and sautéed with a slight drizzle of lemon

And served with a side order of public indigestion

So, start seeing without the blinkered guilt of fibre and wheat

Look out into the world and see every rival as your next meal

Take a breath, pinch your nose and place the meat into your mouth

Chew slowly and savour the taste, believe me you’ll get used to it

And will start to crave it every-day, feasting on flesh to the grave

Just remember two important points, to keep you on the straight path:

Life will always suck when seen through a straw

And, hey, everybody’s gotta eat others’ hearts out some time


*It’s a Bit of a Laugh *To See You So Sad*

Posted in poetry with tags , , on October 17, 2017 by malartart

                                   Thoughts are just textured words

And going off the vocab I’m not sure which ones you’ve heard

                The maps out, the compass is swelling

If this big beast was your idea, then you better start spilling

            Half my face is paralysed and my right arm was severed clean off

 Yeah, I’m beginning to think I’m not gonna make it to the next round

And how I feel is

Ice frozen

Last meal

It wasn’t thawed out in time

I’ve started RSVPing myself

I must be out of my…

Hawt sweat, hawter pork

            12 months

                    round Vietnam

                       just to realise

                        there’s still bullets embedded in them trees

                             6 weeks maybe more

                                   just to realise

                                      The Smurfs are blue for a reason

It’s wrong to touch before you look

                        Burn Hollywood but don’t let it off the hook

            Too late to close the sty

                                      As the pig has already bolted

There Are No More Photos Left Of You                             

Posted in poetry with tags , , , on October 14, 2017 by malartart

                        when you’re young, lust is enough

                                              kick off your shoes

                                                    a tambourine bangs below

                                                in for a pizza-pie, in for a pound

                            half’a kiss & tell and twenty mins of scream & shout

                           like in a speak & spell, worked her right back down

                                from rock bottom to 7up to the Pepsi Challenge

                                    but a line’a Coke’s just not enough

                                          worn down on Guinness for lunch

                                             worn in metal shirt, worn out metal shit

              she was shy as a broken button

                         but camera ready as hell

                                    sad to see back then

                                                    no Facebook


                                                               or Instagram

                                                             to remember her with

                             thunder in my heart, white lightning in my veins

second date way before the first

                               third an’ forth were in reverse

two years and I would be drunk on dysfunction

                        flannel and fabric, sluice from my mouth

                                         Mitchell self-drove north every night

                        in the morning I rolled further south

                                        too far in the middle ages now

              she was shy as a broken button

                         but camera ready as hell

                                    sad to see back then

                                                    no Facebook


                                                               or Instagram

                                                          to remember who you were

                                                   and maybe who you would come to be

                                                   because the attic of my mind

                                                          burned down to the ground

                                       and now there’s no more photos left of you

The Day I Forgot to Die

Posted in poetry with tags , , on October 8, 2017 by malartart

I have opinions— I wish I didn’t, my gums are bleeding, my mouth is dry, and I can’t recall the incident, in which I died, I forgot to stop breathing, I forgot to slow my pulse to a stop, I forgot to take my beating heart all the way down to nought

Refused to call me Saucy Jack

So, I decided to let rip

Stood in a pentagram

As they circled me round the rim

We age— we change

I swear I don’t recognise

These cracking veins

Tied up in blue blood

I throw blades at gold uniforms

To show my tribal affiliation

The Horseman and I— back & forth

Like siblings duelling on banjos

No know & no never—that’s pretentious

Raise hell— raise the roof

To get away from where you’ll be

And get to where you’ve gone

Semen & blood

Burnt hair

A spell check

And a little grammar goes a long, long way

Finger to the Sky (Out of our Comfort Zone)

Posted in poetry with tags , , on September 29, 2017 by malartart

Burn your God, cheer on the raffle

We’ll pick the winner sometime soon

Sometime soon

Sometime sooner would help with work hours

There’ll be a holiday in Providence—fuck!—tickets

Have been left on the dining table

If we move now they won’t get eaten

Won’t get eaten

Won’t get eaten if you keep on moving faster

Pierce the veil, won’t heal this time

Gold will be left hanging off the curtains, frankincense in the air

Myrrh burning, steamed sticks stopped crackling

Sometime soon, sometime soon

Summer time soon

I may rattle like a prescription bottle

But that’s how we rolled in the Nineties

With a salute to the Colonel of Chicken

A Fist of Fun to playful things

And a Finger to the Sky

Testing Times

Posted in poetry on September 27, 2017 by malartart

Solitaire for All

Atomic Eye-Ball

Late Night Call

Cuppa Joe Tall

                          (Gone Awry…)

(they) Awaken

(we) Leave

(our) Destiny

(I) Arrive

(they) Test

(we) Wait

(our) Time

(I) Leave

Fruit of the Womb

Posted in poetry with tags , , on September 21, 2017 by malartart

Picked from earth after they drop

Pricked with Arsenic and Hemlock

Skeletal cores hold no arterial pips

Barrels barricade me in beside my bed

Sly Cider Maker temptation taken down

By two facts: God’s in the neighbourhood

And Apples they comfort me

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