Umbriate Press Poetry

Common be thy name

I am schizophrenic

A plural imago

Of reading pleasure

I wake to Tom Hennan and

Before I can wash the dirt out of my mouth

Bolano wheedles into my eyes

A tale of secret design of which the

Labyrinthine garden of final death

Is toward evening

Finally rendered a squirming conscience  

Awash in the blood

Left in my brain

By the dark daggers of

The aphorisms carved into history by

Cioran or

Sometimes when feeling of stone

I stroll through the echoing architecture

Of Benjamin until

I fall asleep to the pitter patter of

Rodents’ feet let loose by

My only true other

Lovecraft.