Criminal Chance


He misplaced first constellation in the womb
Of a woman. Her name was ‘mother’.
What did a word mean?
They shared a single probability
A double helix,
The anatomical echo of her degradation imprinted
In bases of four. He would run, but where to?
The road inside his home led
Back to itself: evergreen, ornamented
With the carcass of Christmas bottles and disallowance,
Misfortune grown old but sold young. He pursued
A second path, sought past insistence contours
Of magic and metal—surely their dances disallowed
The alliteration of feeling.


Inspired by Adrian Raine’s The Anatomy of Violence



On a Monday stroll I met again that man:
Red cap, red hands, with a smile
Inelegant. His eyes
Held nothing, knew nothing,
Painted in a drunken brushstroke—no!
Not drunken, but inexact, like the curvature of this world lost
On the tip
Of another’s tongue.
He chewed one shirt made of skin,
Looped twice-over into a wailing belt-buckle.
Even the intoxicated
Of the vermin besides his feet,
Stitched and soled in the tanner’s desperation,
Did not ask for a second serving.
They subsisted on morsels
Of the deconstruction project above.

Peripheral Primitive


Along shores of December’d song he voyaged,
Winterbound to house named Home no longer.
The first of four rooms He discovered
(In dream):
Immemorial passage black-walled, black-doored.
A chest it held with heart within—
But keyless its creator, lockless its liberator.
Into the second of four rooms He toppled
(In trance):
Sylvan circus dappled by dismembered masque.
Enchantressed shadows it held—
Shifting boldly from lines to limb.
They spoke to him, graved in sky his crime.
Upon the third of four rooms He stumbled
(In silence, solemn):
Dome unbound, unchartered, woven in cosmic dissolution.
Great beasts it held: earliest and unborne, caged
By starkissed sorrow. Amongst them he strode,
Unchallenged David, long-live’d David, fourth-forgotten David.


Inspired by Man and his Symbols, pg. 40