every day
it’s all
the same.

together, it blurs. coagulates.
fills furrow-trod brain grooves
like grout. experience withers

on the vine, in the leaves, leaves
little brittle dust-skeletons
decomposing on the bathroom tile

so deficient they can’t grow a garden—
only this greying grieving heaving
metastasising mass breathing

again again again
once more once more
the same the sa...

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If there's one thing that I always hate,
It is when my life seems to stagnate.
And when it's wheels grind to halt.
I may then try to see what is at fault.

I have lost all of get up and go.
I ask: What should I do? But do not know.
Could I find something that is exciting,
Play a sport? Or just do some writing?

My mind is a large but empty chest.
Totally devoid of all interest.
I'd lov...

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SULPHUR

SULPHUR MAKES A GOOD SUPPER,

IT GOES WELL WITH A LIQUID LUNCH,

SOCIETY RATIONS OUR THOUGHTS JUST LIKE IT RATIONS PIECES OF BREAD,

WHAT'S THE PRICES OF OUR FACES?

WHAT'S THE PRICES OF OUR COFFINS WE ARE ALL DYING TO FIT INTO?

IF SULPHUR SEEPS MIGHTY DEEP IT IS ALMOST NEVER EXTRACTED,

WHAT SERVES AS OUR DISTRACTION INSTEAD OF PUFFING SULPHUR EVERY

MINUTE OF THE ...

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