Archive for nature

Dentures for Vampires

Posted in poetry with tags , , on June 5, 2017 by malartart

Fast cars

A man on mars

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I got SARS

I had a crush on the gal who writes the reports

Wish I’d been there before she sent it to H.R.

Knock on wood, they gotta be invited in

                                         Scratching on glass—

                                                         sitting on the window sill

Stein’s got his obsessions—

                                        he’s letting the Bad Batch lactate

                                        on office goods

                                        the black belch, no respect from 50 plus up

Me an’ m’ Merman murders my memory of memes (transient)

Electronic bush- whackers brings all viruses to the yard (translucent)

Juicy Gills on flat lips and I’m love sucked in

                                  Instead of bitten at

Into a l’goon— skanky dank black ‘goon

Liquid lizard eyes say we’re nothing but the simple folk

                                                  Night whistles off the day

                                                       (we thank on high)

We met in a coma, it continued through the WKND

After helplessness for 48 hours

Ineptitudes are compost for a relationship

Baggage we can grow

Cut down— Trim— Tidy up

Won’t let it get outta control again

Sensibly seasonal

Climb trees next to home

Cut them down when deemed impractical

Or open both hands and let shared seeds go

Just Browsing (This Life)

Posted in poetry with tags , , , , on May 2, 2014 by malartart

No closer to the itch

Bottle down in an hour

MS is in the next room

On the phone again

CF louder than last time

Faking she’s in love again

Scratching won’t do it

Next bottle down in a half

99 reasons and not 1 for me

It may not be as strong as nature

But it will take root

This Deserted Earth

Posted in poetry with tags , , , , , on June 3, 2013 by malartart

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Where was I? I was with you and you were all alone. You dug deep and extracted what you needed. I expected nothing less and didn’t want anything back in return.
Upon the coast the claylings do dither and blister like gizzards pulled from spewing middles and deposited on the dry as left to lonely devices which include nothing forthcoming from mother’s womb furnace burns but does not scar as smelt dirt turns to cleansed dust and fortune smiles on grave concerns seemingly buried below or high out of sight as bark is peeled back and truth is used to edge away from a natural audience even as they fight and fumble for was it not that what is learnt needs to be forgotten as vanity takes hold and stone is rumbled? will we survive this deserted earth? what is there to be found to be allowed to make of it what you will nature is awkward during the beginning as flowers bloom and their heads swing low to appease thirsty roots well fed they still seem so sad so sad

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