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Polyglottal “love”; lit funeral pyres.
Burning; from friction caused.
By; mollycoddled hugs.


Setting out;
for big-bangs,
black-holes, disordered-chaos,
quantum-physics. All totally,
misunderstood, and, yet, still,
moved. Yearning. For, everything creative.

Swallowing all;
without: coming up for air,
without: a cap-opener,
and, all the while, closed off, stuck.
With: a trauma-crafted-cork;
occluding the bottle inside.

The worst.
Kind of mortal behaviour;
uninhibited, unruly,
grief-stricken; self-destruction.
Whilst, wantonly wearing,
His, exquisite Sunday Best.


Polyglottal “love”; lit funeral pyres.
Burning; from friction caused.
By; mollycoddled hugs.


Setting out;
to, stupidly, and, savagely turn,
sense, into, a wartorn refugee.
And, build; a bloodthirsty barbarian,
from; agony, elation and antithesis.
Amongst, mental-asylum-seeking, natives.

Swallowing all;
without: a barside prayer,
without: a Holy communion,
without: a body or bloods,
to eat, drink, or, speak of. And, instead, with:
six deadly sins and ever-present pride.

Flowers wilted,
fiancé(e)s were jilted,
the kind, and, foolhardy were guilted,
by, His, self-eulogy, His final-words.
Spoken, in the lost languages, of; sorrow…
…at long last, finally, laid to rest, with: the evening-sunset; on his breath.


Polyglottal “love”; lit funeral pyres.
Burning; from friction caused.
By; mollycoddled hugs.

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