Monthly Archives: June 2012

Pawn Priest

In the temple sat a pawn broker,

“I can loan you enlightenment if you pawn me your soul,”

He said twirling his gold.

“But what is enlightenment without my soul?”

“Don’t think! Don’t Think!”

He said waving his hands.

And I happily obliged.

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Come, Don’t Come


Let me hold your hand,

I will lead the way.

For the forest is cunning,

And you are already lost.

What harm can some trust cause?


You can let go,

When your trust suspects.


Maybe we’ll meet some fishermen,

Fishing from the trees –

Looking for some human meat,

Fresh and tax-free.


Or we’ll encounter the Olgapas,

With neon underwear,

Who’ll kill us with boredom —

With their plagiarized pulp poetry.


Don’t let go –

Alone we are vulnerable,

Together we are brave.



<– O –>


I’ve heard about some chocolate trees,

Growing deep in the forest,

Bearing fruits made of jelly beans,

Having roots made of Wonka hair –

Brown Willy Wonka hair.


I am a diabetic.


And there is a gym inside –

Inside the puzzling forest –

With strict and grouchy instructors,

Without any girlfriends.


My bones are brittle,

My muscles lack protein,

And my flowing grey beard

Makes crunches harder.


Why hold my hand?

The city is near,

And you got legs.


Paris makes some good caviar,

Do fishes drink water?



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Undo The Pattern


It’s a machine;

The cogs turn as the lever arcs,

The baby pushes the button–


And the caterpillar turns into a cocoon.


The lights of the machine are blazing,

The lever bows a little further,

The girl pushes the button–


And the cocoon turns into a butterfly.


The machine works at a feverish pace,

The lever is about to break,

The woman pushes the button–


And the butterfly lays her eggs.


The machine explodes into a supernova,

The cogs and the lever give up,

The baboon pushes the button–


And the eggs decide to turn into crows.


Inspired by one of my journal entries where I wrote that the world lives in a trance, between the logical and the illogical.

The logical and the illogical mate to produce patterns which are regular, but which also aren’t rigid and change constantly.

Here, I develop a pattern and then destroy it.

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