Work in progress – Lobotomy

Lobotomy

An ice pick through an eye, while barbaric,
is admittedly a rather elegant solution.

I can’t even begin to imagine
what series of little feats
of human ingenuity lead to such a brilliant
(and effective) idea that poking one’s eye
until you reach their brain, and then
mushing said brain around a bit,
stirring it,
like some fucking dry martini,
would do any good.

If you were ever taught
that everything happens for a reason –
Come on now, forget it. Ain’t how it’s done
around here. Your gods
are incompetent pretentious
little assholes
just like you and I.

But hey: some of the most beautiful things in life
are happy accidents. Sound familiar?
Of course it does. Folksy wisdom is a limited resource.

…………………………………
TBD

June Poetry 1 – Tiny Zaps to Your Already Electric Brain

Tiny Zaps to Your Already Electric Brain

I want to have known the term

Before myriads and myriads of
Tiny zaps permeated
Parts of my brain not covered
In Grade 11 Bio
When your beast slowly walked over to me,
All covered in ozone, all
Wolf-dog like, panting after
A recent kill, his first one in years.

I wanted to listen to

The rustling of the dog’s heart through his fur.
I placed my ear right against
His carotid. So much white noise.
We may have been biting on different tongues,
But it wouldn’t have mattered
Anyway – we were going
Well-forgotten motions.

So later you asked me if
I had an electric brain
And a heart apparatus.
So maybe I’m full of shit
But I think I now know the correct terminology:

Loving you is as easy
As pissing on my own two fingers.

May poetry 2 – Archaeology

Archaeology

O Lucille…
Her fossils were never enough to fuel a starship
But they were pretty,
Polished and well-kept,
And almost complete,
Except for the tusks.

It’s been widely theorized –
We believed –
That the tusks had been removed after
Her death as a show of respect,
Perhaps an ancient human ritual
Signifying that
Lucille’s parts would live on as intricate decorations in human houses

Somewhere

Far, far, far away

From her rancid decomposing corpse.

We are dreamers.

February poetry 3 – Amarcord

Amarcord

Do you remember the time
We were watching a video of
A tiny tortoise humping a Croc?
O the squeal that he makes!

We couldn’t decide whether it was
The squeal of a porn-star
Pretending to be a school girl
Or the squeal of an old man.

O the squeal…

We laughed and laughed and laughed.

Do you remember how
I vaguely recalled hearing
That gleeful dolphins rape people?
We then searched for those videos also.

We were not disappointed:
Dolphins are relentless perverts.
O the squeal that they make!
O the squeal…

We laughed and laughed and laughed.

(That’s how you say goodbye
To electricity that was once generated,
But due to it unsustainability
Is now dissipated.)

Movember poetry challenge – Day 30 out of 30

Spice

It was all so typical that day:
He inhaled an entire pepper to show how tough he is.
She was not particularly impressed.
Scarce stoic tears streamed down his cheeks.
The room was getting filled with a tipsy out-of-tune Happy Birthday .

There are only that many attractions in this zoo,
But there’s hoping that something will go noticeably haywire
This time around.

Movember poetry challenge – Day 28

Privacy Agreement

The walls in my room
Are frosted pink of
Heavily diluted blood.
The chocolate brown
Of my solid wood
(Higher price point) IKEA
Asserts that I’m above
In the food chain.

We never cared for
Decorating, though
There’s this gnawing
Pressure to express yourself,
To prove you are
An artist not a peasant.

I never care, I commit
A faux-pas
Making me
Delightfully
Non-conformist,
A little too hick,
But unmistakeably,
The very formula
Of the Zeitgeist.

I don’t care about that
Nonsense either.
I do care about what I commit to –
Not touching the walls
In case they have ears.

Do not be alarmed –
I am not paranoid.

I savour the refreshing
Monopoly on my
Demographic data.
I bathe in it. I am
The King of my targeted
Advertising.
Bring me my cape.
Bow down.

Movember poetry challenge – Day 27

A walk in the park

Now go away to a place
Where, in hindsight,
It would still be a good place to go.

It might be instinctual

To hold your breath when you step
Onto
And into
The soggy surface;

To hold your breath
To prevent those mouldy spores
From penetrating your lungs;

From making their way
Into your bloodstream;

From penetrating
The blood-brain barrier.

It will then be instinctual
To fight the initial instinct,
To scoff at it
As something foolish.

To be bold instead,
To open your nostrils wide
And welcome what comes your way.

Don’t forget though,
We are penicillin,
And we’ve been misused
For about a century.