Poetry

Read by the author Your browser does not support the audio element.Come and take it Go ahead and take it all away Over my dead and naked body can you take it

Goddammit I hate writing poetry And I bet that it also hates me But there is no escape Put the pen to the paper Write a word, then a thought, then we’ll

They don't make them like they used to. Frozen wasteland survivors agitate. Functions inside functions inside functions. The centre was a myth, it only ever held hot air. Even this loose form feels

I read Bukowski with a smile Toe-tapping rhythm on display Dance with him a little while Flowing beats, I’m swept away He writes his mind, he seems set free From filth to

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against powers and principles and patterns of thought. We happy prisoners Fixed on shadow dancers And mixed-up images But oh let loose the