Working Still Life Classes

by Poetry

going mad now / gone already;
                controllable, man-ageable madness; left
drinking right less &
smoking right less &
barely thinking at all; work all day
devoid of liberties & freedoms & free of thoughts of
                   liberties & freedoms;


temporary burning, speed infections – spitting down narrow streets too fast & too much coffee without God & cigarettes; I sleep quickly &
wake exhausted.

                                perhaps a little distant now
                                perhaps a little lost or
                                                                losing something –
                not sure what.

                                I’d show my work as is to people
I know – don’t want to;
                I don’t want my depressions taken
from me – taken too seriously;
                rather fodder for endless jokes &
no hatreds revealed
                but rage & rats cause bitter smiles to blossom
into joyous things;

I don’t want to be seen every day imp-ortant,
I think,
to keep me small, confined in dark places
where only I can see
& confess
& let me out fractured to jack off ego

                glad no adverts bear my name; careful about that –
no advertising,
or sharing,
no liking
or subscribing
to anything – like that’s the point

idle thoughts & mad
desires – the same nothing
not worth
the time of universes

live a quieter universe,
live a secretive universe &
let the celestial body
lonely in bars & pubs
(like these) &
offices & cafes where
I’ll always find whiskey in my coffee
or rum, when I’m desperate

                glad now my depressions are meta tags
& nothing more – living on wordpress sites
across the world – callipers to drag
foreign eyes to hear
exhausted notes I play.

I’m sorry for being
so unhappy all the time.

sorry all the noises I make &
all the tunes I play
are so ugly.

Free eBooks

modern poetry
Carey Poet
wigan poetry
free ebook


Progression will not be found in the holy, the holy, the holy nothing will be found in the holy as we are holy, as we decry the soul is a fingertip of the holy, the holy is not the soul, the soul is man and woman and base and growing and shrivelling and a rotten petal...


I am tired of submitting to your beauty
as I am tired of submitting to the endless
magazines online nothings & hand-stapled
& their editors
careless with their editing

December 4th, 2017

I’m not going to make this about love.
heard all your warnings,
don’t want to be pigeonholed.
I know other things
intimately; low-slung couches
cigarettes & spontaneous electrical surges.

Local Politics (Dream 9)

Sinister bloody sexless thing blowing out of Market Street with a red ridden burlap sack and a blood iron hood – a sexless thing, I said, from the depths of darkest spring sidling up the side streets with a swing in his thigh obsessed thighs. Sidling into men, don’t...