Five Poems

Semper eadem There are whores in your head when you turn thirty. An hour of keen delight outweighs each word you say. But sinking ever deeper into your unwashed grave you think of who she was and who has slept here since. What happened to the wide-eyed awe of mornings after new delight? There are…

All Said Before

Menno Wigman’s Ennui Innovation is impossible. The Earth revolves around the sun, summer gives way to winter, people are born and try to leave a few copies of their DNA behind before they die, and every generation does its best to put the essence of existence into words as if it hasn’t all been said…

Night Train

This then, all told. An alien and threadbare gaze in misted window-pane. That severed head, that Hitler minus the moustache: that’s me? Can ever a fond mother have believed in that conceited stuck-up grouch? My god, where is the pillager who slept with Valkyries, the poet who rode his birds and violins? I am so…

To the Death

We didn’t pity those who died. A solemn train, the parting pain: it left us cold. We were young and scorned the clamour of flowers and dressed-up sparrows, we walked away and lived our time to death. The pleasures, not the pining, and the world a mattress. And in between all the kisses a quiet…