Canto CV

If hell is other people, then heaven
is the karmic opposite of this top deck.
No twattyspeak into expensive phones,

no grime ring tones, no chirpy mockney pricks,
no windows to frame beaming billboard ads,
cretinous banners for pentecostal hacks—

a stuck elevator wouldn’t be bad,
a solitary cell, that would be neat,
a rusty tap dripping onto my head

a metronome for slow, iambic beats
so I can entertain the friendly rats
as they chew dried up skin from my bare feet

and if the lines don’t scan or I relax
into the same tired set of metaphors,
some man will enter, hooded, sweaty, fat,

to slap me round and call my loved ones whores,
tell me that I’ve got til tomorrow,
to write the best poem in existence or

he’ll snip my head off like a fragrant rose,
and I will thank him for his kind insults,
forever grateful that I came to choose

a poetry retreat that gets results.


3 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Niall O'Sullivan
    Dec 14, 2011 @ 00:05:14

    This poem is bloody awful. My excuse is that I only had time to write it on the bus on the way to Unpluuged and I couldn’t concentrate because everyone within the bus and everything outside it did my nut in.


  2. peter litton
    Dec 21, 2011 @ 01:10:35

    Some you win… some you loose. The second and third stanzas almost stand alone as a poem in themselves.


  3. peter litton
    Dec 21, 2011 @ 01:12:13

    Whoops…I meant the third and fourth stanzas.


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