Tag: Death

Soil – A Poetic Notion

Death is my Religion Death is my sacred Mother Death is the vehicle by which my soul traverses the heavens She is no macabre fancy But a perfumed blossom When I was a boy I dreamed of a rotting woman in an upper room…

Hello World said the Ouija Machine

These machines are febrile hopes for marking the memory of our passing. The permanence of steel, the artificial sun of a liquid display, the durability of plastic. We dance our fingers in frantic spells over 21st century Ouija boards. We the dead write messages…

One More and One Less

  In any case the TL; DR version of this is every time you sit down to write or learn; you’re not only doing it one more time but also one less. Cause the Grim Reaper is standing right there, playing Yo-Yo, and sometimes…

Of Mice and Pontiffs

  It’ll be as a slow eternal drip of ‘you’re a piece of shit’ until you too die among your own waste in a hospital bed attended by bored and surly interns.   So I found a sick mouse. It appeared to be an…