The Park.

Motionless. Vast, desolate, and yet, suffocating. Winters true face, horrid. Townsfolk abscond to brighter scenes, fires, feasts and spirits. In one moment, a wild rage every exhaled breath from the North blows a frozen hell upon the scene, in the next, an indignant sigh, released over the land – A reaction to my discontent. OneContinue reading “The Park.”

The performer.

At once, the audience pounced and there thunderedan ungodly howl that shattered heavens“Give us what we want!”clambering over one another, they reached the stagetore the performer to bitsthe poor soul lay there in piecessummoned the strength to ask:“What do you want?”The audience replied in unison:“We want you to challenge us, but not in a wayContinue reading “The performer.”

The Fountain.

The fountain was not as envisaged.     The saddest truths swirled, a fallacy – youth.Hordes of ghastly grey faces, huddled together amidst this dismal revelation. Refraction, bespeckled with shimmering gold     bed of coins, wishes and desires – drowned by the wicked three.Cackling, broken neck swans, delinquency beckoned.              Continue reading “The Fountain.”

An open letter to: The Wiz. (3)

It’s pure chaos here – a man was accosted today for resting his bicycle on the white line of a designated parking spot in town. The security guard was rabid madman apezoid and pointing one finger, that curled as his tongue wagged manically, he made the poor man flee with bike on back. Naturally, IContinue reading “An open letter to: The Wiz. (3)”

An open letter to: The Wiz.

I’m awake. Slumber submitted because it was tired of my shit. Forcing myself to splurge on paper every iota of mental drudgery that occurs, I find the purge somewhat cathartic. It’s all a stream, there’s no need to think, organise or regulate. It slips out like a greasy after a night of rums and anchovies.Continue reading “An open letter to: The Wiz.”

Sanatorium Holiday Home-Stay.

Mumbling a shapeless madness recites old news something I said way back when but that’s not all!Sounds like laughter low growls piped up poppycock don’t sweat it Mongman you’re already dead in the water and what whatWhat’s the deal with the deal always coming up short in empty rooms narrow hallways move around a lotContinue reading “Sanatorium Holiday Home-Stay.”

Dirty Pockets and Haiku Hair Balls.

Regurgitation Shameless copycats will say you’re not up to scratch In limbo, mindless- Throw me a god damn bone, man. No peace in silence. Calculate the riskI was never good at math- Joke’s on me, I Gauss. Easier to die A thousand terrible deaths Than live one good life. Tumbleweed, brain-dead. Perhaps I’ll roll foreverItContinue reading “Dirty Pockets and Haiku Hair Balls.”