Tuesday, December 8, 2009


when i walk no one cares where i go

i’m as free as a ghost here.

i am unconventionally winged and i have been stuck in amber

three thousand years of fog and sun.

i read of a king. the king of ireland when ireland had kings;



he proved to be persuadable.

it occurs to me that i have worshipped

vice and called it character

attempted alchemical madness

with dylan thomas as defense

and everything i touched permeated

with poison

hind sight beholds

the time i’ve spent

tried to defy




there’s nothing to fear any more

(that was not a pretty sight)

what is genuine is much quieter than that

in the middle of the highway it pauses staring

through the night

with wolfish eyes

it’s not nothing.

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