The Calligraphy of Taboo Against Knowing What It is

Posted in poetry with tags , , on June 2, 2017 by malartart

Not it is written


How it is written

Indecency has

a tendency

to ineffectuality

within the

space-time as

the curve of

the gilding

upon the back of

a black mirror

for scrying

Teeny Tiny Small

Posted in poetry with tags , , on June 2, 2017 by malartart

teeny is as

tiny does as

small will be


in a
i realise i
on the
44444 front
strangers’ souls
join me please

With Loose Lips The Noose Fits

Posted in poetry with tags , , , on May 30, 2017 by malartart

Stains multiple

Still wet w/ alcohol

Once that was

Stainable sieved

(“lyrics unevenly

through a bullet-pierced


now, flicking to

random pages I am

within life as

primal grimoire.

At First Blush

Posted in poetry with tags , , , on May 25, 2017 by malartart

I have no novel ideas nor verbs to race

Mesh teeth push through and can sense the taste

Fellatio is not a Shakespearean I wish well

For justice, like the vengeful, is a cooling down dish for William Tell

Missed his lift.  Missed the middle.

All logic is circular. Test the prognosis before it’s been double checked.

And given.

Locke had been pardoned in a mahogany car

His verbatim counted itself into the corner

The coffin I sensed was threatened

Could not see the most part as wooden

Because the tree claws the sky

Accepts it didn’t grow here from home

But was planted to wave like a dead hand at Nature’s last glove

Never no need no matter how rich the soil

She’ll always be out of reach—

three houses down

//a conceit is a concept wielding a weapon//

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

Pink lenses make me see sense My left hand’s pull contradicts The right hand’s push & I realise I see in Nothing but disorder & conflict

Rose tinted spectacles cut out the burning hum Make out you agree and therefore the scientist wills it to be & Suddenly it becomes the order of things

//Numbers on a barcode

The lettering as a skeleton

Embossed and embalmed

Let’s talk some & put flesh on those bones

Don’t know paper from plastic

—Or Even—

Hanging out in a skip from doing well

Trained as a ballerina with tight, little moves

Now I’m nothing more than a Militia with curves

My clan of skunks are on the move

They’re coming from me to you

If you catch yourself in the right wind

You’ll know how deadly

If you catch yourself in the wrong mood

You’ll know you’re not ready//

Worm Food

Posted in poetry with tags , , on May 13, 2017 by malartart

Up my sleeve is a very old man with an even older promise

He’ll shake the shirt, let out the dirt and take you to a tunnel

‘This is the way out,’ he’ll say; but his sneaky eyes will betray

that within you is the

                      True Exit

Bullied flesh ‘tween knife and fork

Pulled skin tastes of fatted pork

Middle finger towards barbeque hell

Heaven promises to treat you well

But its feeding you up for the cannibals

We’re worm food

            Energy released

We’re worm food

             Patent’s deceased

We’re worm food

              Invention decreased

Worms are nutritious

              Blueprints tease what would be could be should be

Balanced diet

               bbbbrrrrrrr! Fap!! fap!!—newsreel ends

pilot’s licence—lost tropically

pilot flight—last of his kind

pilot’s kite— seen overhead

pilot light—over and out

this only makes sense from a distance/ No Longer Bright

Posted in poetry with tags , , on May 9, 2017 by malartart

no longer bright

                     right before the chorus and just after the first verse, right?

       this world

                 pining for another universe

                            wanting to stop this Earth spinning

                                        details of the moon’s next waning

                                              because  it

                              left me wanting

and I’m thinking about us

           just after the chorus but right before the second verse

                       thought you should

                                  wanting you

                                                  to know

                    and I’m just thinking about you between

                                        the chorus and the third

                                                      thoughts shudder, are left-over

        re-order between the chorus and the next verse

                                                              between chaos and order

            that’s where I’m thinking of living, being, staying

                                                          but alas

                                   I can’t conjure up a purpose

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