PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

That fucking ghost

may cast some glorious shadow

when it escapes the body's blow hole

when it blows off like smoke

and on that day

when it escapes me

leaves me ashes incarnate

and lachrymose and deathly

may there be fireworks



I hope that when I die

It's some glorious

sun - sodden day

a day to believe

in the soul

in its vapours

and the warm rushes

of God's inhalation

drawn in

like peace

something like peace



and not a soul of electric

nor spindle - cars

demon motors

I worry that on an

ephemeral descent

some day

my soul

will be caught up

in satellites



oh my soul

what's up?

down?

who - what - where - why

when are ya?



I put twenty euro on hence:

'twixt the gullet and the smalls

of the back



and he who died in work

last month

his head

lorry wheels --

-- crack crack

splat

did he have a soul

in that holy explosion

of pain?



see this talk of soul is tiresome

like most circles

and traps

I've surely lost my 20 euro



but I talk always of up

because there is no down

if this holy spectre exists

hard to imagine such

pure sweet light

in Catholic invocations

of torment

only up up always

forever upwards



leave the Catholic hell

to the dreary toils

of skin and bone

(and banks and motorways!)

and when it ends

pull back the curtain

gently

step through the

partition