Super-dead:
The thing with the wandering dead
is that they’ll soon think they are alive
after a couple days; only with
superpowers like not needing
to pee.
Mantra:
Mbogo slept nude. He believed this was the nearest portrayal of his spirit he could achieve without committing arson. He set down a coin on his forehead and heart to be his guides. In his dreams he did well to fend off wicked beings. The kind whose ooze woke him abruptly. With the window left open Mbogo whistled and crooned himself to sleep in a 12 tog duvet, it was healthier to roast in the abyss than to have his body seized.
Islesboro wave:
The sticker read ‘Mr. Draper’, she read
nothing. It was Alzheimer the pastor said,
not waving at passing cars. A quarter
way from a turtle and half way from the
sea; in a lime green wooden house, the old
barn on the Maine-land.
Dear religion,
My dearmeat.me submission.It is not that I don’t want to be your friend in fact my parents speak very fondly of you. But I find you too bossy, a buzz kill and all in all kind of a jerk. You would never see me come to one of your parties and tell your guests what to do, so why do it at mine? You only exist because I do and I don’t rub that in your face. Do me the courtesy of going back home and leaving my friends be – this play date is over.
Yours truly,
Life
Run to base:
I was fed avocados and fruit pulp,
a goblin’s lunch, high mono fats content.
My father said I had the diet to
dart by a magnetar, in old trainers,
multicoloured, and burnt around their soles.
I could power the worlds light bulbs, if I
wanted, but the news was on and sadly
for me the toupee my father wore liked
the monotony of the anchormen.
Audio: Tshaka Campbell @ Freeway Poets. The actual audio was not recorded from the night, my phone doesn‘t record too well, the audio was sourced from the net. But he did perform that poem my phone tried to capture.
