carpe mortem

hold your death to your shallow heart
and let sings and childhoods
float down like night's tired
ejaculations through the greening waters
of tasty time

for only with your death remembered
are your cripples wings
a monument to the momentaneous
itch for the twitching instant f-ed away
on brutal beds

then, and god's kamikaze nipples
shall eviscerate the enervated vampires
who suck the dust from love's dead
carpets. we shall crush our wheelchairs
with sledgehammers the and nourish night

with spiders and flies, with life

indeteminate object

as a child one day
i was maybe ten
i played with a thing
a piece of meaningless menacing
metal i found on a roof once i
remember it well

it was cold and
indeterminate and probably
once had some purposeful
telos but now it was futile
absurdity, just an object
no one probably could say
what it was
unless they had known it
once

it had become this futility
it was me

tomorrow

i cannot let tomorrow go
yet, and fall into the past
it is there like a toad squatting
on the clock i do not own licking
his sinful lips he
is part of me already
i wish he had never
yet happened

yesterday

yesterday will maybe never be
its recurrent currency,
counterfeit shit
it runs towards the inexorable
then, and towards me
inexorable as a freight train
as a new day
today
Poetry by
David McClean
 
BIO:

I was born in Wales though I've lived
in Sweden since 1987. As of
September 2007, I have about 230
poems in around 110 issues of 98
magazines and e-zines.
Copyright © 2007 Lavender Isis. All Rights Reserved.