Malignant inoculum

Tired of repeating
The same variations on a theme
A horse made fluid
The same narrow eyepiece
Focusing on a piece of cardboard
Demanding recognition
For immaculate mediocrity
On uncertain terms
Poking organ deep, gently
As an experiment
And then looking upward
For a response
From stolid forms assumed tangible
To the question
“Why wasn’t I invited?”



Whats more important
The door hinge on coffin
Or plastic mugs with platitudes
Maybe its the people who make you things
And the things that can make more of themselves

Whats more important
Glazed ports made to never open
Automated birthday wishes past expiry
The frame around the shadow of photographs
That will end up choking a sea creature after us

Whats more important
Abstraction of our lives through fiction
Loans whose repayment will outlive what its for
Steel utensils that you’ve had since your childhood
The covenant of death which glues marriage vows together

Whats more important
Than family forming out of duty
Fertile dirt clogging shuttered windows
Hatred percolating from burden of performativity
Demands of hagiographic remembrance as all loses import


I hear it, whether I’m dead or awake
For sake of those slow on uptake
The skies wonder who to forsake
Of us and them best plans lay
Firm on clay, fillet the play

I hear it, whether I’m dead or awake
Who can say if it is night or day?
Manholes to sinkholes, stardust repatriates
Is this one worse than past earthquakes?
Eyes glaze ablaze, all that glitters now opaque

I hear it, whether I’m dead or awake
None will be ever led astray
Just follow the rats into vats of decay
No vision, contrition, legions of lesions on display
I bear it, tethered, I’m read what they spake


Among well lit planes
Scared by approaching dark
Even the outline of a fruit
Possesses some sinister sense
The glowing orbs are harmless
Yeah, keep telling yourself that
As the tendrils tenderly approach,
to give your existence a massage
The streaking blur of light
A play of light in ink
Right, I absolutely believe you
Maybe that’s why the bike wont start?
Fungus on buildings dim the whitewash
The dark fore is scared as well
Whatever you do, don’t look back
Lest you want to be a shadow too


Achieve oneness, the fun cess, call heatstroke sun bless
The city bloodlets, scores of gun threats no more than spun threads
Badmouth and stun get, egress on shun threats or be pieced to ton shreds
Slurs begun spread, that graves on undead was base for stadium bloodshed

Know it like the back of hand, cars don’t have lots to stand
Reticent citizens band to reprimand detritus that makes the fertile land
Unseen transparency apparent, sleight of dog-whistle shorthand
Outsider conforms, so no longer banned, scams be damned, get with the program!