Fragmentations of the novel




Fists and Nostrils

My Fists are clenched


My nose is bled

My eyes are soar

My ears bent

My forehead wet

And my hair shred.

Snot fills my lungs

Eardrums sound like drums

My heart is wary

My head heavy

And my brain completely numbed.

The Spirit inside me

Demonic and deaf

To sense and wit

Love and drive

I dive deeper into a pit.

The Soul is furnished

Satanic and thick

Stench and detritus

Abound like lichen

I am a desiccated human.

The Breaking of Being

Typing a new record

with broken thumbs and

database mythology.

Breaking a folder

split in a million

ways to communicate.

The ancient and modern

a wasteland of forgotten

marshes and physics.

The great barrier

running through the mud

towards a bonfire.

The souls of ancestors

buried in petrol

inflamed by corruption.

The lies of time

a code of hierarchical lines

and statues dispossessed.

The history is not blessed

but a curse around our necks

Kings and Queens become

like rabbits and silly dreams.

They never existed

only the poets

of the bottom lip

communicating wit

could elicit the trip

Truth and her fleas