Telegrams from a little world called Malice

Dear

beloved

indigent

Nobodaddy

let’s have a séance,

to hear the emptiness

of what you have to proffer

beyond your christmas coloured lights

fried by prophets befouled stale pissed words

ablaze in darkroom bloody drunk wine .STOP.

 

masquerading as an apostles ghost

I’m a witness at the creation ball

where the first belle eve was skewered  

with a spare barbecue rib  

under a glass ceiling

where cuckold titans

viciously judge

eves METOO

moment.

STOP.

 

my

eyes close,

images

of flowery

pop psychologist

taking constipated

dumps in my brooding vortex    

use my particle memories  

as clumping odourless cat litter

yet my raindog spirit sees paw prints. STOP.

as a tourist i dared to follow slaves

down alleyways paved in lost sandals

into lost troubadours caverns   

where i imbibe rum libre’s

on a little planet

known as Malice

orbiting

glory.

STOP.

 

nights

after

my last wake

when my vision

beholds Mary’ Blues  

i smoke dem stale old  

Camel cigarette butts

behind telegraph cross-shaped poles
where my second escape goes unseen

cause i’m just another salt pillar. STOP.

 

i went to the underground Colosseum
where i watched a nativity play.

the cast were sexless mannequins.
skipping mary’s METOO scene

to her cuckold husbands

son being born

fictile.

STOP.

 

there’s

a train

to the coast,

the tickets cost

thirty years give or take

but I saved for my own

undisclosed deliverance

to Elysium’s potter fields

where i’ll lie in a delirium

till dawn when i’ll rise to walk naked. STOP.

 

i

picked up

a black stone  

whose eyes were closed

whose tongue would not speak

above the spring Martyr’s tree

i dropped the rock on it’s head

the rock turned white hot as it fell

smashing like a rotten cuckoo’s egg

foul water cleansed the martyr’s sin .STOP.

 

brethrens need sistrens to swallow their seed
to spawn circumcised zombie poxed hordes
to drag the mountain through pillars

where virgin sistrens await

their fates METOO moment

neath their pavilion

in paradise

enslaved.

STOP.

 

I,

and i

use loosely

a ego term

of self endearment,

to send you telegrams

my divine Nobodaddy
as your androcentric scriptures

caused this METOO apocalypse storm

during which all fathers should be judged.STOP

©bg 2012/2019

 

Dear Readers,

I first wrote this poem in 2010/2011 and published the poem on my Banishedman blog in 2011 in a different form and wording in some parts but not what i was saying, that sadly remains the same today.

I began rewriting this poem in 2018 but as you all know or dodn’t ,i’ve been rather side tracked with haiku’s and a novel which never seems to get closer to being finished.

This is my view of where the androcentric culture came from , from which the Metoo movement arose in response to the androcentric tyranny via the suffragette movement , then as womens liberation ,to the Metoo movement of today.

Kindest regards bg

“viva la Evolucion”

 

 

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9 thoughts on “Telegrams from a little world called Malice

    • hi my friend , lol yes your right , damn spell checker never gets it right 😁. thanks for your thoughts on this one they’re very much appreciated . kindest regards bg 🙂😎🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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