Hanging Court Finally
I am
K R I E G in disguise at night
willingly beat into myself
and the head breaks down
as aided,abetted
or succored
dam rig rage grain
and holes
made to see out of
and be forced to kiss
an english brick of excrement
and old garments of their order
shame and trouble our
left disinf
o Hahahahahahahate
so offending life
as to be in the year of our Lord
seven hundred and twenty two notifications
all at once the same
many wicked and evil disposed
of persons onboarding sessions
turn to resist and not inflict
you are drowning - or rather, being drowned add
one to another already debriefed
in gasping and sobbing breathe
Hampshire but why
like discord they mire and mend
there selves my father never refuses
he was the fastest bin man in the South of England
yes not just South London, not just even Kent
the whole of southern England & destroyed my fathers
defense to oral instruction to put to the test
my imposition for not letting
me get well
on the indefinite premises pray
rectify this
maim hovel
in Estuary english name
any hovel in estuary english
to his keepers defense and mortal coil would you
remembering suffer destory by pack
your needle walls and hold on to
I am
K R I E G luxury of patience
in a melting pot
again woefully hindered
I am
K R I E G drift down the stream
the accession should be destroyed
given way to rabbits
on the ground on surfaces or carried in air like a place
or burial of old good things
and then suddenly this
and go to beachy head sometimes
think about and
fits several indented
voices this absurd thinking
trap off clothes hook
with ripcord or in
shallow sink with maximum water
or my closed fist arm ripped open
and universe mouth wide.
I should go away again
and into mound or field
I’m basically nothing like this
right on the floor and with five
voices croak or impend in throat
like as if I am
K R I E G there’s an old saying in Tennessee —
I know it's in Texas,
probably in Tennessee —
that says, fool me once, shame on
— shame on you.
Fool me —
you can't get fooled again
I don’t want to be here anymore
On Father’s Day I would like to go away
& K R I E G a lonely, hooting word the wattle
and thwart on englands unfixing
recompense I want to make you
happy just a little
before going away
and yet, the fresh, hard ebb persists
