Why do I feel inspired when I get caught

At a Glance

I found myself, with the TV blaring in the background, trying to write something meaningful, but failed, just as I usually do when I run low on cigarettes, pills and booze.

The TV was on, and a brief story was running a rescue piece about a wounded fox entangled in barbed wire. It sounded painful, but what do I know about foxes in pain, road-kill orphaned badgers, or even the blind but optimistic farmers in need or heart surgery… i may simply be out of touch with reality, maybe even heartless as those senile war criminals who we far more than often see escorted into court in a wheel chair smiling…

When I turned my head, thinking this poor fox was in for some more pain. To my surprise all he did at that moment was stare back at me… like I’m was the wounded animal.

Little Poem #12

To whom this may concern

Young boys dressed in green,

Pick up your arms,

It’s off to the fields.

Mothers stop weeping

Make yourselves useful,

The fields need sweeping.

Father’s be proud,

Your boy killed seven,

and you’ll see him in heaven.

Dear mothers, there is still another

Why don’t you send us his younger brother?

Fathers be glad, we found your son

He’s intact, in a body bag.

And fathers, don’t feel bad,

The dead can still call you dad.

Poem #7


He was the folder that was never shredded

The shredded folder that was never thrown out

The thrown out shredded folder that wasn’t recycled

The recycled thrown out shredded folder that wasn’t manufactured

The manufactured recycled thrown out shredded folder that wasn’t bought

The bought manufactured recycled thrown out shredded folder that was used

To hold

The papers

That was to be


Thrown out,






Little Poem #5

Dungeons of Human Progress


A fresh latex glove

Inserted its piteous branches

Into the forests of expired clones

The erroneous race is here,

To modify evolution itself.


Magnesium rabbits

Biodegradable rats

Telekinetic resurrected dodos

But what is to be

Of these critters,

In the shiny metal cages?

– These illogical humans.


Little Poem that’s not so little, or a poem #3


He fucked up. I mean he really fucked up… and he knew it, but he just watched the lifeless corpse, that moments earlier was hurling words of hurt and truth towards him. He watched, observed how the blood made its way through the clothing. His head tilted. He began wondering and observing how the blood was hindered by the double stitching of what he imagined was a white shirt, “as white as a lie”… he thought… he grinned at that thought, thinking it was witty… then realized the thought made no sense. It upset him. He began to feel as though logic betrayed him again… The sounds of his thoughts began to anger him…sounding more and more like those of the corpse’s… Both, he thought, echoed… first off itslips to the walls of the room, then in his mind, his incoherent thoughts echoed deeper… His teeth now clenched… His head lowered, his heart beat grew faster and harder…Something he noticed as he stepped forward. It enraged him even more, that his heart is beating, that he can feel it, even more enraged now, as he remembered that he hated logic, but forgot why… He was full of hate… he took another step towards the dead. Then stopped. Again, he didn’t know why. He stood still, the stillness… the stillness even that, he was aware of, he compared it to the dead… Its almost as though he was playing a game now… who would move first… For a moment he stood there, lifeless… He felt nothing… heard nothing, knew nothing. He then burst out into hysterical laughter… “I’ve won!” he kept repeating, “I’ve won!”, then began hurling insults and teasing the dead body … and pointing to the blood as it moved closer. You moved. You see… I win. You moved…