Well-Addressed Aporia Of The Disenchanted Man

Bah, absolute 

Humbug I say—why 

Do we call it 

 

A brand-new day 

When there’s nothing 

New under the sun,

 

And hand-me-down

Habits continue 

To wear us away?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ossuary Dust

For those grief-stricken 

To the marrow, black is 

 

Never black enough, white 

Has to be washed clean 

 

To the bone, ashes are 

Best left alone. 

 

 

 

 

 

Definitely Not My Cup Of Tea

Get outta here, cupcake! 

Of what use is a slam 

Bang-up ejaculating protesting 

Poet who loves sucking 

Up the limelight but lacks 

The balls to give snow- 

Flakes like us the finger? 

 

 

 

After Seferis

Don’t waste the breath 

That spirit gave you— 

 

Breathe new life into it, 

Then pass it on. 

 

 

 

 

Good Old Salt Of The Earth

The newcomers 

To the game 

 

Ready or not, they’ll come 

Seek us out come hell 

 

Or whatever’s left 

Of high water the moment 

 

We’ve run out of places 

To hide and stranded 

 

In the salt pans and long past 

Healing, the waves begin 

 

To lick old wounds again.