An American in London

I like to think I'd be a part of Hemingway and Fitzgerald's posse.

Month: June, 2016


My skeleton holds me up,

but only just, my

bones rattling, growing weak.

My muscles have shriveled,

my skin hangs limp,

and underneath it all,


Empty, hollow, vacant,


Stolen by a world which

has unraveled itself.

An unseen hand, pulling

gently, unweaving

each strand until the

last of the thread

comes tumbling down,

disintegrating on to the

hard ground,

dust to be blown

away and forgotten,

left to rot in the

corner, scattered,

dropped off in basements,

hotel rooms, late night

cinemas, and garbage cans.

On streets and down

alleys, pieces lost forever in

a stinking, sweaty vomit-pile.

I sift though the



wailing, singing poetry,

with my hands full

of regurgitated peas.

But I am left empty

and my sunken

skeleton slinks back

to its deadened




Bellies full of beer,

bubbling, bustling,

about to burst.


Empty eyes and

crowded lungs

gasping and

heaving, spitting

out heroic


the clarity of

the insane.


Feet messy and

tangled, bodies

lustful and

mangled, rushing

to feel


while remaining



The bitch gets


the prick gets


the beer gets


the beds get


and as the

morning vomit

comes up

to empty

sour minds,

all heroism

is lost

all clarity

forgotten. Reality’s

cruel hand struck.


I’ve been split in two.

I’m a halved hypocrite,

I’m a fickle fraction,

I’m a funny faker.


The mother holds

her child, protects it

from her own evils.

It feeds off her

fallacy just fine.


“We’re all

doomed, mother dear,”

child cries.

“Never forget you

were ruined too.

But I’m hungry

so forget it, just

stuff your face

and close your eyes

and pray the world

in all its horrid hatred

won’t leave you hopeless.”


I’m an utter ugly stooge

To this utter ugly time

In this utter ugly place

And its utter ugly condition.


To consume is to die

slowly, so die fast,

frantic, and avoid any

chance of clarity.

Head on steadfast

to the absurd and

the vicious and the

starving and never

sit your lazy

ass down.

The looking-glass

I walked alone into the shallow lake and saw


laid out before me like a canvas.

It captured


Even the empty space just before my feet.

It captured


I saw my mother crying in a blackened gown. I saw

my sister with smoke in her eyes. I saw

flesh and earth like a kaleidoscope of life before me. I saw

life and she saw me.

Like a looking-glass through


yeah, I saw

life and she saw me.


I turned around and dried my feet,

caked in dirt and leaves,

I went away.




too clear, I followed the darkness through to


I stayed naked in the darkness,

I stayed naked and I stayed free.