Poetry
My Books
Explore my published collections of poetry, available now on Amazon.
Strange Medicines, Vol. 1 & 2
[Link to Vol. 1]
[Link to Vol. 2]
A two-part exploration of haiku steeped in body horror, drug abuse, and scatter brained musings.
Pica for Toy Zeppelins
[Link to the book]
A surreal and grotesque collection blending deranged sensuality with wanton suffering both revelling in muck and meds.
Samples of My Work
Below is a couple of shorter selected poems that represent the themes and style of my writing.
Quetiapine
Hollow moons mask the keening stars,
Carried by the valley below.
The devil's lethargy dwindles my urges
To greet Saint Dymphna from a bottle of bleach,
Dying madly in illness again.
I have an itch that rivals trap-jaws,
Relentlessly gnawing my vesicant scruff.
I'm coated in fire wherever I go,
With scarred bowels and stubborn lungs.
Luring whispers have dampened,
The wind no longer sends out screams
But I still shift between planes getting high
And my back still begs my violent death.
A tragic surge to gore on meats,
Oozing tallow from the gut canal.
Skin bag seeping pink and stinking,
Swallowed fold of luncheon truncheon.
My chamber: a tip of cups and cans,
A hungered well of piss,
A desperate emptiness,
A finished flagon.
I am an ever-shirking petty king.
One day I will awake to find the time,
And in my palms,
Coughed up blood.
Beast Man’s Manor
At the beast man's manor,
Where clapboards dribble spores and bone rafters thrum,
A gnome with haws of lemon spits his spells,
Siffling, fliggering at the mason’s crankish hymnal.
From the pantry—where plums blacken like bled clots from knapped crowns—
Springs a leak, trollishly gurgling doowop ditties.
A faery nacket flits on moted wings,
Darting from the brow of a cumbrous girl boy,
Troubling child troubling—
Swamping the beast man's statins with sugary foil
And salting his uppers with commie-grade ricin,
Until the beast man jerks and folds on his living room rug,
His face porridged by unholy convulsions.
The gnome gnaws his nutmeg whole,
Tracing wavelets that bubble on the walls.
A monkey pinscher, fur slick as shit tips,
Sniffs the corpse's grin before lapping its eye.
Eight swords clatter on the hearth,
Cold sabres of arcane augury—
A breakwater drawn against essaying swill
Decanted from virgin slain hubris of piddling ancients.
The manor exhales, spiflicating its crinkled cut skin,
Peeling plaster into pulsing veined pulp.
The sopping muscle of its boards congeal,
Snark-dry and sepulchral by night’s draw.
Gold leaks iron water under the gnome's wrinkling—
A fateful alchemy of hushed vomitus.
Mites, chubbed and nibbling, flee the filigree
To gnarl spazzed nuts of capsized squatters.
The beast man’s wife, gut flushed on weepy gin,
Finds nothing to bury but tooth-slashed bristles.
Tangs of cheeky dross gush from cubby to cupboard,
And the pantry shudders as the leak croons wolf tones,
Flute cracked yowls dump backsick through the manor’s bowels.
Then there in his ruinous skid-lined cockleloft,
The gnome lays flat a final card:
Ten of mealworms, writhing their cryptic script.
For the beast man’s face is beat and eaten raw,
And the house is hollowed, and the wife is a ghost—
Yet the gnome sharpens his salesman pearls
A snaggy crinch that morphs the manor wispen.