Romeo and JuneA cool evening of fresh and pale June, A young summer, inhaling Crushed grass and curling fern, Herby musks, rain-moistened earth Like lovers’ waiting lips. The sky is wide and soaring, In clean-rinsed pearl: Phantom blue, hinting blush, whispered dove. The figure on the bridge Pours his gaze into the river.Romeo and June
Death of an AtheistNo horrid God Ticks off my heartbeat rations There is no marked pageDeath of an Atheist
No divine calendar There is no finite countdown
No! There is relief in universal Sweet unknowing, free from burdens Of God-Knows-What destiny Instead of—
Oh! What an (ugly fiction! Monstrous interference!) Unthinkable, provocative Enraging thing to envisage:
Intrusive mind-stripping Naked, inescapable unprivacy From a bulging eye that doles Careless death with no explanation Just a date which, thank No-god,
I don't know
If I Called Her A Fish...You’d be beautiful as a fish, I think Silent and unbreathing Wrapped in glassy shrouds To waver in mid-dark, mid-deep A glimpse of liquid chainmail ghost Suspended mercury Before airy gurgles white my vision! and— Rising, panting, I roil with saline fogs To rocks where waves crashIf I Called Her A Fish...
Loud as sharks’ imagined roars.
But under is silent and still from the storm I glimpse you walking, and want you And say nothing.
How We Wet Ourselves LaughingI was with my friends.How We Wet Ourselves Laughing
We found a shell, a husk, a skullbone – a boat like an old worn boot a thin-skinned and crackly fibreglass crustacean in a broken down shed by a broken down hut on a wave-broken shore but we dragged it to the sea and it floated.
Wisps and tussocks of dry seaside grass the sluscious green algae is lethal rock lube barnacles dot the whaleback-grey
monumental slabs like fossilized nipples the sea reflects the leaden cliffs the sky reflects the leaden sea naked feet push the boat out we howl at the agon
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So let's go out west and bask in the overcast.
May your drugs never run low
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Weave a circle round him thrice
And close your eyes with holy dread;
For he on honeydew hath fed
And drunk the milk of paradise.
-Coleridge, S.T. "Kubla Kahn"
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This is where… where the parties at… [link]
great work you got there
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