I’ve got a paper dog
inside my head
leading me astray
a graveyard of cigarette butts
Buried in ashes of grey
the doctors said…
Well, I don’t listen to what they say
and I’ve fallen in and out of love
in less than a day
and this paper dog
Is spewing it’s guts
In my brain
Humping paper dolls
Trying to bust a nut
I should get him done
He’s a friend.
Hello, firstly I’d like to compliment your annual publication received by us tenants. It has the kind of smell I enjoy from reading material. May I ask what paper & ink combination you use for such a scent?
I am fully aware not many people will admit to being page sniffing connoisseurs, and so this question may seem strange, but I figured we all gotta live sometimes, right? Some of my friends go skydiving and boring things like that. I suppose if we could combine sniffing books and other reading material with skydiving maybe I’d give it a go. But I presume when falling from such a height and your face is flapping in the wind that the laws of physics would have it so you couldn’t smell much anyway.
As for the building and the flat I live in I have no major complaints. I guess one issue would be a preference for more soundproofing so that the neighbours can’t hear me maniacally laughing and crying simultaneously. All my neighbours roll their eyes at such occurrences in the knowledge I’ve seen myself in the mirror again, I know they roll their eyes because I keep catching them as they roll under my door. I have since put a draft excluder at my door to prevent them getting under, it seems to do the trick. It’s ironic though as if there were a war I still wouldn’t need a draft excluder because I’d be excluded from the draft because of my mental instability anyway.
P.S Please get back to me about the ink & paper combination.
Got his fedora on
with it’s ostrich plume
He’s a jaunty chap
He has the pick
From all the chicks
Cuz he’s just chill
And full of tricks
So as they say don’t come knockin’
When that caravan is rockin’
Hello, I was just wondering if it’s possible to change from printed subscription to digital subscriptions only? Also are your magazines recyclable? I ask because I wish to recycle old issues as I’m conscious of space. Though they might make some money on a 4D antique show when I’m long, long dead after a long lost celebrity ‘cousin’ happens to end up on ‘who do you think you are?’ and looks into my sad little life and finds my magazines, I don’t really care for making fortunes or for hoarding for the time being either. I duly hope that they are recyclable (This is a lie my hope for it being recycliable is not to appropiate levels at all, it’s bordering insane. Insane needs to sort it’s borders out so that us sane folk can’t get in) after all, your publication is about the natural world, and I like to think you care enough to make those glossy pages of birds with their bright breasts as environmentally friendly as possible.
Yours faithfully (Thats a lie, I don’t do faith. I’m an extremely paranoid person. Please don’t blacklist me)
He’s drunk on the sly
He snatches another bite
Too many fermented apples
Don’t tell his wife, she thinks she’s the only apple of his eyes
She don’t know he’s not fit to fly
She’ll have a fit when she finds out
He’ll have spun ‘er a yarn or two
But that’s just like our Dave
The sheer cheek of ‘im
I love ‘im all the same.
Ready to carry you away
when you’re wearing your best straitjacket
I have possibly posted this before. I admit here openly this is not a poem written today, but was written last year. I’m struggling at the moment to write a poem every single day of April. I’ve tried prompt words, nothing is coming. I’m creatively constipated. So I figured I’d find an old one.
Hearts transparent in the crevices of our smiles
Those who know what to look for
The sorrow lurking behind
The laughter in their eyes
Humour is a bridge
Transcending us through the waves
Frothing grievously at our feet
Trying to drown us whole
We laugh at the stench of our morality
Becoming clowns in our own rights
Casting illusions over doubt