Poems

Monkey Business

Hear that voice
Blowing like wind mangled by a trumpet blast?

A man with purpose is something rotten

Sanity in society demands the good man

GO MAD or SUFFER WORSE

It’s not a wonder, everything,
When cleaved of soul
By the blade
Of our own foolishness
Is our life,
Finally rotting offal
Under sinking sun;
A rich black death
Of prolonged sterility;
Gruesome display of waste.

A bullet of thought out of the bone chamber of honor;
Birds darting from your touch:
These slice the air
With
Purpose

As,
With a mouthful of laurel
And
A tongue palsied by the horrors of sanity,

You
Dream
The
Cool
Cleansing
From
The
Wellspring
Of
Your
IN-HER-IT-ED

Mad
Ness

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