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Flash

 

Death has to be sanitized for the movies

No bulging pants of shit

from sagging sphincters

as they hang from theirs nooses

odourless

 

The Devil smiles as I write this

 

Maths is just theory,

computing is maths which

is quite scary!

The internet is maths

so is God theoretical?

 

You smile but I don’t like it.

 

There is no maths

there is only coincidence.

 

You stare at your instrument of evil

the internet is not for exploring

all theory is coincidence

language is maths.

 

 

You do not understand me

You can’t see my hands

 

 

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS 2018

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You break the rules –

they change.

You enforce the rules –

you are an obstacle

to change.

 

 

No one can hear

the discontent

behind the doors

of a ward where life

is illegal.

 

 

Governed by Rule of

Microphone, the

loudest voice wins.

He who declares a lead,

loses.

 

 

Head down, you declare

insomnia, for the

practise of those

who use the drug

called Light and no Dark.

 

 

They do it until they

ask for the way

to bear the rights of all

upon their responsible

shoulders without art.

 

 

It is above the use

of the footing and clads

the righteous with

the vowel of being

in the wrong.

 

 

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS 2018

Guilty, guilty, guilty

is your state of

agreement at the

beginning of the process

that starts at the

charge desk.

If you can’t find

someone guilty

of a crime, Find

them criminally

insane instead

using a police

psychiatrist

instead of

a courtroom appearance.

Put them somewhere

where they won’t

affect the business

of good people

doing peerless

work. Unjudged

they proceed with

the good work

of being inside

the working-timed

love of laughter

called Judgement Act.

With faceless authority

they judge us

behind the closed doors

of a hospital ward

where unbounded

by language

we scream for more

time to think

about the writing on the

walls of the booking establishment

where we buy our tickets

to flight, away from

the tears of plentiful

mordant soft

underfelt.

 

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS 2018

Throw away the paper

after reading this

I am dying.

I was sentenced to

slow death.

One detainment

against my will

and I am

a danger to society.

No work for

the traumatised.

That’s me.

No hope of employment

for the rest of my life.

No references.

But The State

continues to function well.

Thanks for asking.

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS 2017

The tree is dressed in

tequila shorts

and beer

tank-top

Pissed, I slice the lemon

and wrists

all over the page

venom for the family

I have lost

due to

natural disaster

taken by a riptide

I don’t want to imagine

their deaths

salt water in the lungs…

just pour and

don’t ask again

It’s why I am here

searching for connectivity

an electro-light

for resuscitation

as I mimic their deaths

with mescale.

Salute!

 

 

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS 2017

 

As I write my name in the snow

I wonder if you remember me

and I shine from warmth of unexpected love

I wonder how many others have

carved your name in oak trees

with knives like my own?

With sonnet-slumbering oaths

to the world, I ask not

what to do with the winter’s

edge on your voice, icicles

sparkling verbiage at me like

you know what it is to be mine!

Love is not about the Right of All

being stark raving mad. It is about

the rendering of music to the sound

of the thudding heart.

 

 

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS 2017