False Prophet

A bizzare, surrealist experimental poetry performance I created in 2012.

The Night is Cold and Passionate

Not everyday is an excuse to create

I’m a man of my word

But not when it comes to addiction

Scum of the Earth

Master of the Universe

Simultaneous presence

Of the incompatible

Which is why each moment

Rips the brain to shreds

The more I feel

The less I know

Until all is black,

Black as snow

Dogs

I went to eat that food. And after I done, I go eat more. Big one give me more. Off that table. In that big room with the thing everyone looks at. I don’t see much. And sometimes others like me are there. And I go at them when they make noise. I go at them. And go at them. I keep at it. Then I want food. Like now. Big one is eating. He watching the thing. So I go back and forth. Then the one who smells sweet come in. She give me food. I curl up. And then I sleep. Big red black dark shape.  The big dark come. Clustered. I hungry. And I thirst. Then it fades dark. That was big black. It make me not feel. The big black covers all. That the thing that covers most time. Light come. I get up and she is here. She alone in the big room. I want food. I go up at her. She not feeling the big black. I go at her. She already wet. Her face is wet. Everything around her face is wet. She wraps her arms around me. And the big black comes over us together. It covers me and my browness, and her and her paleness. The brown hairs on me stand up.