“They glow unbearably bright”

July 14, 2009 at 10:07 pm | Posted in writing | 12 Comments
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“When there is nothing left to burn, set fire to yourself.” Graham Nunn

Haiku-schmaiku he said hic and stood up from the computer. Hit it boys, stepping over the dog on his way to the kitchen to refill his glass. Pointillism and limousines, just as an image perfect formed and complete opened in his mind like modus ponens is the principle by which the scientist distinguishes herself from the alchemist as the whiskey scent chased the words away, brushes past the stereo, “Have you ever had the feeling… The old three-legged dog looks up about to interject, if p then q, p, therefore, but thinks better of it just as the colour shaped in motion like the proposition which underlies all logic with neither words nor petals dissolves. It describes linear causality like this, not unlike the scent of a child laughing and he sat back down and started typing, threecard dissappears chuckling into the
limo, hit it boys that
you know podus monens, the talisman of those who place their faith in reason
just as those who are afraid to fly
place their faith in gravity.

Outside the open window the ancient fig tree grumbles, shakes her leaves and sighs, just as three card slips into the limo, hit it boys, that one,  excuse me while I

soundtrack – “scarey monsters” misspelt by David Bowie

October 15, 2008 at 7:24 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 12 Comments
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the limo pulls up in the pouring rain
a cliched crack of thunder
and she uncrosses her long legs
clad in jeans so tight you
can sense the swing in her
the rest of her dressed in scent
nobody noticed, don’t move Mamu
she said,

i prayed to the Lord the man
in the gun grey suit let it rain let it rain

he says and hangs up the mobile phone,
come in…

three cards waltz he coulda called it
zeus but then you would have seen it come
in my dear, sings best when blessed in

The Gambler

August 23, 2008 at 5:19 pm | Posted in writing | 5 Comments
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Now wait just a goldern minute, sonny, he said throwing his cards down onto the table. Anyone can see that’s a cheap cheat trick. We can’t all be winning all the time, he said, reaching for his jacket pocket.

Wait, catch a breath there old timer, these is new days. I thought this was a no rules casino, one where we all lived on wits and instincts he said adjusting the frills of lace at his cuffs and removing his pale blue silk hat adorned with feathers. Did you not know it was I, Casanova, who invented the lottery? Let’s see if we can’t come to some amicable agreement. If we can’t all be winners, then someone has to lose.

Haha said F. that’ll be enough of that. Where’s that goddamn pianoplayer? Bootsy, Bootsy, wake up! We are in need of some entertaining distraction, bloody hell, Boss disappears the whole place falls apart he says slamming his glass down on the piano, dust yourself off son, play us some of that good ol’ honkytonk,

(You can read another cool gambling man poem story here…A Gambling Man by Piece Of Pie.)

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