Poetry Blog by Daniel King
The space between ciggarettes is a period for dark incubations.
I spoke to a homeless man who was 19 and I am 39. I felt like an immature child pampered and protected from the harsh reality of dysfunction and consequences.
Pleasure is happieness's wayward sister. She's loose and frivolous.
I grow cancer for bleak despair. My offspring will be cut out of me. Comfort is death assured.
Monday 18th March 2019 11:30 pm
I assassinate the moment right now. What is unawareness but the death of reality?
I leave the gunshot exploding in my gut. Like a slightly over enthusiastic cat.
I saw it was blindness that testified on my behalf.
I was raped by the good book. No one would testify on my behalf.
In terms of time I see very little difference between turning off a light and the sun going down.
Monday 18th March 2019 6:10 pm
The skeleton of society is the architecture of osteoporosis.
I am a hollow ship cast adrift on an ocean of literature and history. I do not have the necessary weight to sink. Instead I starve and burn under a cold and unforgiving sun.
My depths are abstract. The deep waters of fringe sanity. They defy logic and formal study.
I have no narrative unless poetry be a narrative. I have a voice...
Monday 18th March 2019 2:59 pm
I do not care if you are vulgar but I do ask that you be polite. Ettiquette is preferred over vulgarity.
Let those laugh that win. I vomit pearls and drink brandy to recover.
There is somthing comforting to a sentance with perfect grammar.
Barry lyndon ached once for love but it made him so much more.
Decency no longer runs in social circles there are many broken links.
Friday 15th March 2019 7:29 pm
Angel hair and open spilling guts hideous with intestinal snakes slithering over the floor.
I have become an illusion of arrival.
To write from stillness is to seeth still deeper than the storm.
World war 3 was my personal injury. I screamed a red skinless face. proffered my head for a beheading to the news media. Condemned into the compression of extreme guilt.
To be bor...
Friday 15th March 2019 2:54 pm
I willingly drown myself in an ocean of life giving love.
I breathe without breath, I burn without flame.
Cobwebs hung from atoms in the silent eternal night.
The truth is rarely proceeded by "should".
Leaning into stillness until I fall over and disappear.
Without any effort the wind pulls and pushes.
A writer that regularly uses repetition must doubt the existence of their own ...
Friday 15th March 2019 1:55 pm
Take me home I am the feral cat who wants only freedom.
Sometimes when I am despairing the sadism of my self crucifixion I want to laugh. Over and over like a dog having its face dragged through its own filth to arrive at William's punchline: "It's a sick joke, get it?"
*William S. Burroughs
Love that swoons into the soft tiresome night of blanket blackouts.
Make haste you're meeting ...
Wednesday 13th March 2019 3:39 pm
Steeped in confusion and physical frustration. I allow the dregs to surface. A burning inferno sliding down the back of a lightning bolt.
And me an arching cat hissing with his hackles up.
The mirror spat my reflection back and I'm still wiping my face.
Where is Emily Dickinson? I called her name to the wind and the cold space. Her silent reply was I am that I am.
Sometimes the eye...
Wednesday 13th March 2019 12:08 pm