Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Two Poems by Niall Rasputin

mourning walk

I bare-pad down
the zig-zag path
of broken laughter
and glowing-hot screams
breathe razorblades
cry buckshot
piss magma
stop by your plaintive grave
to remember why
and where I'm walking
this rancid world
without you
is not fit for maggot
nor man
just keep moving
toward the bastard sun
until he gets spooked
and swallows
me whole
then we'll dance victory
in that voluptuous molten belly
like ghost-dog gypsies
and start our dream
over again
love and meanness
are fireproof

in the mucky midst
of your delicious deceit
your coy dog smile
was like a sack full of dead kittens
on a wood and feather altar
to the Lord of Futile Fuckery
who was worshipped
circa bone nose rings
by ancient hunchback assholes
who ball-busted their spouses
to make it rain.
and they really needed rain.
and you really slit me open
(my affection is bleeding out
like a bruised sunset)
Niall Rasputin lives on a houseboat in SE Louisiana.  He is in love with the swamp, but often has secret trysts with the stars.  He believes that laughter and song are the finest of all opiates.  He writes his madenesses and passions down as a form of daily exorcism.  He will never understand his own species, but will die trying.  He is never wrong, because he refuses to know anything.  He is 245 in dog years.

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