failed eclipse

We waited along
with everyone else,
heads craned upwards
as if connected by
invisible thread to the clouds.

I wore a welder’s mask.

I still taste sweat that
traced invisible salty streaks
down through stubble .

Waiting. I noticed some had darkened Perspex,
others gently cradled homemade
camera obscuras, waiting.
looking up

for the world to be pitched into
sunless beauty.

Some whooped with joy,
others stood with their
mouths hanging open.

But what if the sun
failed to reappear?

How long would it take
before all the vegetation died?

Before fish float to the surface, bloated dead.

How soon would it be before we began to eat each other?



    • eatmorewords

      If hunger strikes, reach for a book, it is a weapon, and economist fail to explain why in abundance there is not enough to go round

      angry letters fired off to look at delivery schedules

      lost phones inside sofas leads to sofas ringing leads to people answering the sofa
      screaming into cushion biting tongue making sure each morsel is chewed 27 times


      • multiplemichael

        i can see that the poet is interested in his FIBER
        fodder with little nourishment
        a pole-dancer with backdoor curd
        oh, what an intellect
        anything with a snout
        infants stuffed with crickets
        stewed drunkard with pigeon
        forget the fingerprints
        but not the souvenir


      • eatmorewords

        never forget the small trinkets of memory the bookmarks of salad days
        the hogs head
        the apple in mouth with the worm protruding from shiny surfaces
        the mismatched cutlery and chainsaw knifes

        we’re all being fattened up for the final push


  1. multiplemichael

    crowded with inappreciable points of time
    you call them trinkets of memory
    bookmarks of ecstasy
    please no more numbness
    ideas that suck the life out of you
    melodramatic………………………that final push


  2. multiplemichael

    maybe it is that final flush and not the final push
    in the labor room and people are screaming “PUSH”
    and there has to be that final push
    that god awful sound
    juices/smells (trinkets of memory)
    this is a learned society
    early morning wood


    • eatmorewords

      early morning wood leads to splinters under the skin
      in birth rooms computers monitor every heartbeat, counts the trinkets
      the ringlets in her hair
      a final push
      it’s all just mush
      microdots reflections of your birthday sky

      this numbness is available in micrograms to flush down the hole behind tonsils


  3. multiplemichael

    first rule: never trust a computer monitor in a birth room
    usually it is totally phony/multiple loops possibly random loops
    people in the backroom play trashcan basketball
    they are common barn people
    they pull animals out
    later they pay others to painfully kill those same animals
    they eat FLESH
    what can you say about humans who eat flesh ?
    far worse than the incest that you detest


    • eatmorewords

      Birth computers used by DJs – looping beeps arcing like rainbows over sterile sharps – beeping blips

      “It’s the new sound” –
      but he talks a lot of wind blowing down
      blowing down through corridors
      under doors

      they sell the newborns from under sweaty tired mother eyes

      shocks to the head
      they eat the flesh javelins scratch enamel removing the flesh

      hiding evidence


  4. multiplemichael

    the wind blowing
    anesthetized poets on self-help
    the PEEK-HOLE in the restroom
    probe the secrets of the falling waters
    i like caucasion in tight shorts
    the sounds…..the smells
    try doing what teenagers do


    • eatmorewords

      the wind blows bloodied cloth across sticky sterile floor metronomic
      menstrual regularity

      the rise of the moon pulls oceans slurping sloshing on shores drowning the poets note
      killing a thousand ideas a million words stores
      amongst treasure chests

      grist to your mill

      the rest room is never restless the graffiti on the cubicle door speaks of a balance,
      the need


      • multiplemichael

        people paint menstrual red but sadly it turns brown
        people try to clog the drain but charlatans will not have that
        that big ol’ stinky backside husbands have grown to know
        the penetrating pleasure organ has turned into the yellow faucet
        that treasure chest with its seeds and odd pipe
        fragments from the past no lazy gaze to your sex drive
        endless sorrows to the modern calendar
        oops there goes another million ideas


      • eatmorewords

        feigned pleasure in the torture suite
        sex friction
        the end burns
        tears at the entrance and he’ll remember the way red nails touched him for weeks to come she won’t remember a thing
        play dumb lightbulb flickers at the far end of that silent corridor where there is only one exit
        up there
        on the left


      • multiplemichael

        the lack of spontaneity in the torture suite sucks
        takes too long to set up and take down
        what kind of person likes the sound of a whip ?
        seems like a bygone evil
        too much parenthood
        i want to leave my body and live in the television
        invite me to that party


  5. multiplemichael

    please do not ask me turn off my hyper-television to argue about the artificial society
    of unnatural men
    modern man will remain shipwrecked
    inescapable social destiny
    get a job cutting the heads off of crappers


  6. multiplemichael

    promised pledged vouched
    a residuum of barbarity
    a used tolietpaper psychological alteration
    no man can be happy
    relatives under the christmas tree
    a pack of savages
    hard to purchase gifts in squalor
    hard to wrap presents underwater
    pass me a crapper daddy


  7. multiplemichael

    things have lost their original beauty
    words are being removed from the dictionary
    your special way of urinating
    ordinary can be modified
    be a show-er and a grow-er at the same time
    gay santa likes a little peek


    • eatmorewords

      The Doctor is not immune to the sight of blood jetting
      yellow pissy snow
      Eskimo myths in cold climates

      the only season
      the only time it’s acceptable to have a tree in your house then its cast aside like an unwanted baby in a cardboard box that used to contains banana or some such fruit
      scrap paper unused prescription

      a list of presents confuses even those who use slide rulers

      to much choice leads to nothing
      why do we need 32 types of the same thing?- blind people see through this charade

      paper scissor stone

      dead reindeers make nice food
      firewood sleigh


  8. multiplemichael

    galileo holds your hand
    and whispers
    above the dead reindeer
    just blame ill education
    mistakes are everywhere
    people without arms or legs
    their idenity belongs to the public


    • eatmorewords

      he held your hand but the lens was cracked the telescope is just a tube

      you can see through

      they are trying to steal your photos they want to own your art

      God can’t be dead
      he never existed
      the congregation swoon as realisation landslide a punch not thrown in anger

      I love my children but I feel sorry for their future

      build me a time machine my love


  9. multiplemichael

    it is not just an eyeball tube pointed to the heavens
    eventually we will find the unexpected
    2,000 years of human growth and we have the smartphone
    can’t control libido or retire paul mccartney
    when i was young my family would go out into the cornfield at night and listen to the corn sing
    if i remember only one thing……i hope it is that


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