By baruk on May 31, 2014
of course my life is a poem, he said, spoken word, set to heavy metal riffs and a nyabinghi rhythm. full of thunder and bullshit and long sunsets by the sea. and, like the best poems, a sharp, sudden ending.
Posted in poems
By baruk on July 6, 2013
I. Will not. Floss. I Will not Stick bits of plastic in my mouth to rip between the edges of my teeth and shred my sensitive-ish gums to validate your bloody marketing and wholesale purchase of dentist gowns. I Will not Shame the memory of my head-hunting ancestors who grew bitter herbs in the wild-wild […]
By baruk on February 28, 2013
i dreamt you died i dreamt you died with the bitter still in your teeth i dreamt you died with the bitter still in your teeth and the slightly rancid smell of your futility filling the spaces and the spaces between the spaces i dreamt you died with the bitter still in your teeth and […]
By baruk on October 30, 2012
contsructivate, won’t you? celebratronic with muchness. for the sun, the sun she is outside of her hiding and the rain is dancing with an elsewhere and later there will be a coming backtion, and more celebratonic but for now it is the sun, the sun, it is she.
By baruk on October 20, 2012
i think of apu every time I sharpen our knives. these hands could be his hands, holding the stone cupping the water testing the blade. chemtatrawta chuan chem a tat rawt rawt ah but they aren’t: these hands are flabby and soft and haven’t killed in 13 years. here the chicken are slaughtered by specialists, […]
By baruk on September 23, 2012
there’s a song, sometimes, in the places that we aren’t; there’s a scream there’s a sigh there’s a smile. there’s the earth, sometimes in the places that we aren’t; there’s the sky there’s the wind there’s the tide. in the places that we aren’t, you and i.
By baruk on September 20, 2012
there is a darkness in these shelves, rising from the stardust and skin of other peoples’ memories. our memories are buried with the ancient dead and grow as the hawi-lo-par: flowers of forgetting or remembering which? i don’t recall. — on the way to mithi khua (land of the dead), the mizo dead went through […]
By baruk on September 1, 2012
come on spring you ugly bastard wake up shake off winter’s sodden hangover and rise to meet the summer’s sun-bloodied sky there’s fishing to be done and getting lost in the hills and aotea square waits for this year’s occupation while in the beds of rulers the mighty fucktards sleep the spring will wake come […]
By baruk on August 7, 2012
This is a bus that is a bus but is not quite like that other bus. That other bus took Apu and me to catch crabs, down in the shadow, shadow, shadow; down in the stream that flows from the big water lake that V and S drowned in. In the shadow of the hills […]