Saturday, June 28, 2008

Three by David McLean

night tastes like glue today

night tastes like glue today we sniff nothing
and this heaven basks in its emptiness

where we hope to be buried alive
scratching frantic lids of coffins

too big for us, lips writhing their kissing
rictus, bliss bitten love is dead bits

above us meat and dreams
and a devil to believe in

me is dead coddled “ideologies” -
which word implies something

is reasoned belief though words
are impotent dreams

we hope to be buried alive
in a body in a coffin that screams

in a corpse that reluctantly


as if we expected

as if we expected resurrection
to this never-never where too many gods
get dressed in murder to prefigure
the smelly authenticity of devils,

where the sweat on the toiling body
scents death with its best preferences,
absolution and pedantic perversity
and a million illiterate prejudices

falling into helpless disinterestedness
where moral laws bark at us, eager
as poodles or beavers, meat
for eating, glued together

by cum and love, angular angels in hair-raising
heaven, strung out on unbelieving
drugs, fucking love and up
to no good, negligent nipples

basted in blood


time trickles

time trickles glue and orgasms
is dead people happy

i do not like religion but suicide bombers
have a whole lot going for them

our skinny skulls deserve crushing
when nothing is in them

the blood tastes like love
and nothing sweeter than abortion

recycling fetuses too frail and worthless
for mothers to fuck them

just needles and spoons
and an affectionate dustbin

their cancerous murder is forever
a worm with apples in

and time in my trousers
too many children

piety and sin-less
nothing fingering

scarred skin worlds
begin empty

within the seed

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