I lost my center

the only reality
is the cemetery
with the grave’s
eloquent silence
as the world
grinds down HARD
forcing us all the way
to the ragged edge
of the universe
as terrible things
are hovering
in the next instant
all the perils, accidents,
malice, & bad weather
which assails us & the resulting
bitterness & ill humor
are all part of the
senseless plot of daily life
eventually leading to
imminent perdition
& final extinction

Homeless Dreams

lost souls wandering
homeless & strange
on the margins
of animal necessity
sprawled out on the grass
of the city park
free as the wind
damp from the morning dew
dreaming of Molotov incineration
& self-annihilation
of young girls with
hair flowing freely
of gaping graves for
the rich masses
the scorn of the class
driven deep in their soul

Jonathan Hine has been writing poetry for the past 15 years in an ill-advised attempt to write out what William S. Burrows called the “Ugly Spirit.” The results of this experiment are inconclusive. He is unsure whether his attempts are reinforcing or rooting out the menacing infestations of negativity that the Bhagavad-Gita labeled “dark inertia.” Jonathan’s book, A Symphony of Hells, is available at Lulu.com, Amazon.com, barnesandnoble.com, etc.

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