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Fantasy of Hands

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Rhapsody On The Edge Of A Knotted Finger

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Meditating on a Bottle of Salad Dressing

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There's a man in a Mackintosh reading Harper's Bazaar, I think many things are bizarre, I think the possibility of things not being bizarre is bizarre. Sometimes I'll have a great notion, doesn't everyone? I dreamt I fought in the civil war in the…

Feline

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The Silence in your Silence

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The Two of You

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The new kids never even met you. They know the story of you. They will have it by heart by the second week and include the gruesome part in a letter home.

A Red We Hope Is Not Of Earth

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Twenty.

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His face is lined, lost, resigned,

The Journalist Sips His Tea

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It isn't fashion or politics, centipedes or Morgellons, but the sanctity of melons, the squeezing out of juices. Now that we are purified,addicted to the colour red, neon signs announceelectricity is dead.A tranquil crowd of strangers, anxious…

Antiphony of Sighs

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IGlasgow, its swollen bleeding face, its unrepentant eyesProud inside its operas, vain within its shames.Watch these sanctities unsound shrink into their oneness.Set these centuries alight, peer into the flames.Into their time descending the pedestrians now cease,all is…

Never Read Literature When You're Drunk!

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A pale-faced manwearing a bright yellow wigonce said to me“never read literature when you're drunk"now here I am,at a window tablein the Libertine cafe,eating my words,wishing I had been a monk.Across the street loomsa gallery front,where, in large red…

The Absolute Goes Round In Circles

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I Did Not Write This

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PhD's in remorse. Babes without eyes. Presbyterian church-goers baked in their pies. Miss prim-and-propers stranded on meadows. Men rescuing cats then queuing for medals. I did not write this, I swear I did not write this. Saurian…

The Buddha on my Wooden Desk

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The Buddha on my wooden desk says all things are Chaplinesque, that all's a self-containing joke, a cube of ice in a glass of coke, a sunbeam dragged thru autumn leaves, the residue a lover leaves, a kind of vein,…

Circle Jerk

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Taking a Bath with my iNuke

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Mickey Mouse mini-nukes are often placed in children's school lunch boxes for cooling sandwiches, though an accidental meltdown could cause the food to become dangerously hot in both senses of the term.

This is Paradox

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Concupiscent you cling to a truth like a demon,but please, contain your self.By all means, exert, but once in a while,rest, the illusion of love is love and you have always known this, like cherriesand ice cream and pictures of Mount Fuji.One who has found yourself in a…

Anyone Can Do What They Can Do

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Cut my karmic rip-cord. Shower me in angel dust.Let me embrace the gray, this isn't loveat first sight, this isn't blindnessat the twinkling of any eye, this isn't the timefor the blowing of any trumpet.Anyone can dowhat they can do. Didn't you know this? Or are…

Six.

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She smiles at strangers,

a poem by Darryl Price restructured by Samuel Derrick Rosen

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Shovelling shit.

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“Whatcha doin'?” “Moving this shit.” “Why?” “Well, I can’t leave it here!”

After Watching Zardoz

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Infinite storage space for unreflected patterns.Pretty pictograms from the fields of time and motion.Uplifting monotones despatching Jupiters and Saturns.Remember? The second we crawled from out the ocean,vulgarians of the sunpoised against the tip of a cosmic…

Ashtray Blues

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O most disconsolate ashtray, you are not politically correct, it's a conspiracy I suspect. O most disconsolate ashtray, how I long to see your smoke arise, suspended in my eyes, now you have nothing left to do but sit there in a smokeless …

Perspicacity.

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I called it Nirvana and Elysium I called it Bountiful I called you to come forward Without counting.

Because

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The Light of Paper Lamps

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Machinery bleeds until a soundlessness confounds,then, like a candle's light through a paper lanternyour womanness passes, leads me,not thru blind eye desires, nor the glow of demon firesbut something powerfully inert. A potent inexaction.I will not cling to your…

You Might Be Miss Piggy

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You might be Miss Piggy. But I'm not Kermit the frog.I miscalculate the sums of our predicamenttrying to catch the dragonflies, rolling aroundthe dampness of our resenting this old modern world.You might be Missy Piggy. But I'm not Kermit the frog.I'm just here…

From the discovery of fire to a crypt slash restaurant

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You are not Medusa

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Roses, They Can Hurt You

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Sally Sally Sally, don't you go round those roses,those roses, they can hurt you. Now that someonehas written a poem about youit is maybe not the poem you would want written about you.In another universe you may have been a revenge haikuprinted on a greeting card on…