Dear Sir
At this point I cannot help but imagine your head
skewered on the garden fence. All flattery aside I
find you a bloated vile politician, manipulating
the children, giving flowers to my wife. Shame!
I ought to thread the stem through all the holes
in your skull. Men tearing down a bridge with
negative compassion. Euthanased buildings and that
guy running from a burning truck. The hollow of
your eyes like divers floating bodies of plane
wreck victims still strapped in seats. Cat fights
across thatched rooves late at night.
I disagree with your policies. My little sister
in a cage somewhere in the Australian desert went
crazy and chewed off the fingers from her left hand.
All of this while on the tram I see women reading
magazines about actress’s bathing their dogs in
evian.
Sir, where does one turn? This system is broken
up against the wall like a chair in a bar fight,
irreparable. All the horoscopes in this mornings
paper foretell misery. You probably won’t get your
pay check. The boss will be inflexible.
There are crows chasing swans across old
parliament lawn this morning, mist from the river
pixelating the edges.
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>A Dark Samadhi 1st Edition buy direct from the Author $15.00 incl. postage - email for details
SCALPEL (Chicago - OUT OF PRINT)>>
