Sonnet: Self-Portrait; Gibberish

Self Portrait

Take off all your disguises. There you are,
Like John the Baptist naked save for fur.
I would not spoon your soul out from a jar
Or squeeze you like a tube of brown manure.
I only want to know your naked heart,
Its tangled bridges to your fortress mind
Beset with Harpies, Gorgons, pried apart
Because your integration was a blind
For separation of the self from soul,
Division of the heart from the intent,
Dissembling for the public in your role
Of thaumaturgic poet discontent.
I’ve lost you once more, Craig, you’re hard to pin.
Sit for the portrait. We’ll begin again.



Prose Stream

Sit for the portrait. The brush strokes the canvas in favonian languidness. Who knows of the flamulated owl? Who mutilated the television with crayons? The blade iron that heats and cuts? Cuisinart for reptiles only. As if man would eat crabs, or oysters. Then man's like a rat; he'll eat anything, even shoe leather when he's starving. No one has to starve today but out of greed humans prevent other humans from eating. It is a cruel cruel cruel world out there, Dorothy. Don't trust your ruby slippers; get a kick-ass pair of boots.

Saw my shrink today. My case looks pretty hopeless. May have to find a way to get ECT. Anyone know how to start a foundation? Shock a poet today!


3.5 Kilorats,

Craig Erick