Poems from this week. Click “read on” or the title of this post to access them.

As a side note all the photos i’ve uploded so far have been my own scans of film taken on a Lomo LC-A+, which is a small Russian point and shoot. You can check them out all over the place online, or check out my Lomohome @ www.lomohomes.com/lomo.requiem.

(no name yet)

In my head

Sparrows are chattering mischievously

And the bell-tower is calling

The villagers to church

And the wind is rustling through the wheat fields.

I grip the sides of my head and half-yell

My god will you stop the fucking noise.

So I through rocks at the sparrows

To expel them from the dogwood trees,

And I through rocks at the monk

Pulling the church tower’s strings,

And grimace smugly at the wheat

In its presumptuous field,

And can only project my will.

The local knights find me,

Sulking at

And amidst the wheat

And inquire into my feelings against the monk.

I tell them it is within my power,

To act in such a way

Being that I am a grouchy hermit,

Yet they put me a cell in the catacombs.

Back in reality

I brush some leaves from my behind

And bid the clouds adieu.

(Insert name here)

There’s a skeleton in my closet.

It smells a bit, and its placement

Is quite unfortunate when trying to dress.

I named it AL

Like from happy days,

And I insert my hand into

The back of its skull

And rant about fox news,

Or read Kierkegaard out loud to myself,

And talk about the daily specials.

Boring the occupants of my liquor cabinet closet.

In crowded shopping malls

I see my skeleton’s curly hair

Or olive skin wrapped around

The hand of some other sugar-pill-sap.

The image blurs into dull descriptors

And I remember…

Sort of.

Sometimes my skeleton dons minty chap-stick

And we reenact the moment previous

When I fell down the stairs,

Cracked my head into reflections,

My wrists into edges,

And wrote cliché poems about love.