Tuesday, December 22, 2009


This poem literally came to me in a rush of inspiration, and the irony of it is that as old-fashioned as the first few lines read, a rough version of them found their origin on twitter. Ah well, so much for the 21st century. She comes and goes as She pleases. Enjoy:

O Stranger, do you hear?
My mistress calls

and cries for black blood spilled on fields of snow

Is it yours, or mine? I care not, cares not She
only that the furrows fill, the rivers flow

and nothing left of seed save wisps of husk

Hey fucker, listen up!
Yeah, She's my shotgun
double-aught flash, both barrels to the face
your brains on the table
my blood on the page
and nothing on the floor but empty shells

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