Horror, Sleaze and Trash.

Since being off social media i have written 2k words on a short story and 16 poems im kinad happy with. Here are a fresh three i worte for Dylan Thomas and one for the beat generation.



All for you guys.

I have gotten my self
blind drunk
and taken a shit in the cats
water bowl

just trying to figure out
how you guys did it;

and what was the secret
to fighting through the
hangover

when my stomach was eating
itself

and i was shitting out
green
snot
for 3 years.

So this poem
is for the one off's

The ones that got old

That stayed forever

Them fighting kings.

I think the holy secret
of the BEATS

was not to write for the
down and out

the under foot trodden

but to become one

stay one

no matter the
hangover
even if the hangover

was copy cats

like

me.


------




Milk and wood - for dylan thomas"

a man who could turn
wood into milk
didnt need dollars to live

he would survive on the word
nourished by

a thirst he would never satate

by amount of milk
or wood.

Thje ocean
like a great
glaring queen
of felines

a lover
never hearing your calls

a brutal blast
white a dark white twist

like a pint of guiness
thrown into
your
face.


----



"dead voices on the radio"

If half the
dead
men

had half
the life

left in the pages
you
left behind

the ocean
would have
lazy tides

the moon would
have floated
far away

the stars
bored in the
sky

Best it was left

for you

to keep them
burning

still.



-----

"You ventilate"

Short of breath

the best
needed no breath

but to

write.

The work

like the fog
on a pane of glass

ready to be rubbed
away with a palm

to expose the ocean

a woman

or death

outside.