Wormwood Scrubs by Steven J. Fowler |
by Steven J. Fowler |
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all heart & some voices Wormwood scrubs
to Anselm Hollo
o my best friend bones if i should die
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all those emails unanswered might be a tiny ear in the palm
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on wormwood that’s why holding you so lovely
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its almost always a love poem here
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command is given & we’re clan free above the wall
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before where the lion teases an army its more silky as it lifts its tail to the whores!
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to have to two wives two sisters / two mothers & three dragons
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there, a lucky king a crown of fur a spaced wolf battle growl
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how did you get those bruises? sport
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singing to me about eye colour performance poet lublin isnt dublin
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& the feelings in the heart of feelings but 12 year old nearly dead through self starvation
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refusing potassium pills the only way to stop the father is to kill him
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there is nothing pathetic about her she doesnt panic
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what colour need a spoon be when bored into thick in order to stir shit as a profession
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the city a snake turns out a shark doom, the house rises up into a dragon
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o my david butler & friend & best man you’re nothing on my wife ≠
were it not for an old bear reading we would free miniature licence
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to wed just days from that old letch informing us how love we are
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& will be apart from everybody because ain’t we not like them
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a crocodile bird a line of matamatas surviving videos, like wolves
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borobudur from the outset there are two discretions the first on objection
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I was olivia nicolescu & I make suicide
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