Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

the rooknosed sniper alone planes the stone smoothe
leaves curled pebbles on the october floor
braided silver trinkets fall out of the grooves
as the laser-brained serpent falls through the door

blindman's anchor set firm in the woodwork
splintered dress adorns your stationary jaw
that bends to no mesmerising beacon
relieves a broken costume unison
stageshow that holds no consistent draw
beyond your constant misinterpreted smirk

the translator crosses the yellow lawn
on the worn footpath shone clean by the wind
from the sidedoor to the rusted concrete platform
where water is drawn from the tightrope's loose end.

ugh.

I miss bowerbird!

poetry was an infantryman
french or deutsch
at verdun
killed in the first wave
thousands of his comrades
marched on his corpse
and then dead, joined him
on a large pile of offal--
at night
large rodents
ate out his eyes
proceeding to
brain and innards,
finishing it off
with some marrow
for dessert

now yr trying to
pimp his
bones

yeah this one's pretty much trash.