Untitled

imageshut down – locked out
it didn’t hurt
blocked; no posts yet
I remember your drunken rant – deny it
saying I was a liar
so speaks the plagiarist
so screams the faker
derivative of all influences

I am love
what a conceit
no more loving
than a block of ice
frozen heart
I am love
how presumptious

wankpig
with the emotional depth
of an eye dropper

one friend
made a sandwich
with all the fillings she loved
that love would fill his belly
one friend drove him
to the ferry
to stand
in the coldness of night
autumnal
the reality
of
the situation
permeating
like
the damp west coast

I wear this hat
I hide this face
as she gathers hair
concealing whom she might
or might not be
existence of non existence

the train carriage is empty
until Dumbarton Central
when I hear the rustle of paper
smell of black pudding
tearing of a plastic sachet
smell of tomato ketchup
at Dalmuir
the unknown passenger
scrunches up papers, farts, burps
and disembarks

there’s no one on the plane
and it’s freaking me out
I’m in the crash position
only wanting to be loved
as prayers and mantras are extinguished
by fire crews
searching for survivors

wankpig
so comfortable
in arrogance and conceit
and clear of verbal abuse
I read poetry
badly
I write poetry
sensitive to the word
too sensitive for you
in parting I have no regrets
no more shall I be a whipping boy
let the hunter kill the boor
let the boar
in forest roam

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