IN THE CAGED BIRD APOCALYPSE
they clipped all the caged birds' wings just to be on the safe side clipped those of mechanical birds' too just to be sure applied hot lead to anything that flies loving less remote control than a TV set
Color Me Curious
untitled
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

pixel skylines
almost home
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
EXPECTATIONS
cherry valley forever
Noah Kahan

tannertan36
Fieri Frames
occasionally subtle
Not today Justin

Jimmy Eat World

No title available
Claire Keane
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Cosmic Funnies

#extradirty
YOU ARE THE REASON
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@damiangarside1998-blog
IN THE CAGED BIRD APOCALYPSE
they clipped all the caged birds' wings just to be on the safe side clipped those of mechanical birds' too just to be sure applied hot lead to anything that flies loving less remote control than a TV set
NIGHT RAGES
day has gone its deals done and night rages dangerous with such magnificent and absolutely poor malefic creatures patrolling, keeping things deadly deep apart below the surface desperate to make a living, strike a Devils bargain with a kill
IN THE EVENT
we are friends but I cannot deny responding to you as a woman your touch, your care, the delight in your eyes when you speak of your lovers and me there, so there, in the event of any overspill
REGARDING THIS MATTER
I am sitting in the Tesseract writing a novel if I do not finish it if I do not escape no insufferable worry here time and space do not matter and neither does matter being a fiction an illusion whose future is energy as I watch the walls slowly rotate I think of the possibility of future incarnation as demon or angel or something outside that old tried-and-trusted, but failing mythology I cannot be explicit, but here I am thinking of some gloriously meek (nor insanely alpha predatory) successor to Man.
man who writes haiku
man who writes haiku will not press the red button however provoked #haiku
times change
times change Empires fall just mustn't take the whole world with them that's all
AFTER THE WAR
after the war we slept the deep sleep of terminal regret whilst our children (if you can call them ours, if you can call them children) meek, mutated, wander the planet they have brought back from the dead
THE JOKE
he was going to make a crude punning joke about the two-slit experiment but his brain became entangled some messages lost their way heard stories about how their creator father-mother did not love them, never held them left them doomed to always just be single molecules never wavefronts, waves
WITHN
you cannot trust this poem everything that seems predictable, to follow a natural, preset course shepherding such well-behaved rational sheep will catch you napping until you test the fleece find the wolf so smartly clothed within
do we doobiedo?
do we have a algorithm. for gobbIedigook? solve propoganda equations to three decimaI places? an abracadabra algebra to prove something rather than nothing substitute nothing for every absolute zero in the known Universe?
IN TAUNG
I was in Taung when the missiles fell from the sky if I were a first man would have mistaken them for dragons, or apocalyptic birds which is so, so different from what we, the refinement of the species see them as, indeed mistake them for in our tragically more limited mythological imagination fiery salvation indeed! as if this is what we were born for this what that image has been shaped to become and Death here now not just for firstborn but for everyone and none with the power to intercede make the supreme sacrifice to save the world standing strong with the ancestors in Taung.
CONCERNING THE FUN OF HUMAN RIGHTS (A SATIRE)
such a pesky thing this human nights like insisting that when I dissect a body I should use a scalpel and not a chainsaw and that the body should, most preferably, not be alive removing all the fun
NO CORRECTIVE SURGERY
there is no corrective surgery for ideological blindness you can cut with a laser deep into the fat of your head just put it to bed with a good book (you will be thoroughly misreading) or watch TV till dawn missing all the nonsense that is said
AFTER THE WAR
after the war there was no philosophy since no picture or frame just stark desert of the real except there was nothing that could be called the real not on this grotesquely surreal dead planet anyhow anyway
needed you
needed your warm body and many cold beers to clear my mind of heat death thoughts could not quite come to grips with the idea that the last picture is a blank picture is no picture that there is nothing left to ask why is there nothing rather than something (no consciousness chaser) and no cold beer to fill this emptiness with or anything remotely resembling your enflaming touch
PICTURES
I drew pictures not guessing what they were not realizing they were pictures shabby stick creations more like cyphers than representations somehow they had found their way into my brain looking better than they would on rock on subsequently on paper once I had wrapped my head around the idea of improvisation useless to imagine any true talent here and so I scratched my name in cuneiform happy in my sonnet to invent writing.
Dustjacket
I love the dustjacket to your hardcover almost as much as I love you so much sexual pun potential in a science fiction landscape subliminal tentacles lascivious aliens prurient female astronauts rockets to take us to planets that mirror our repression in the kind of graphic terms that something in moonshining down in the deep unconscious will keep dredging up never let you finally displace consign to the galaxy of forget