UNDERGROUND VOICES: POETRY
In my suicidal years
suicide was my dictator
she excreted herself on the knobs of door handles and cabinets
even the openings of coke bottles
warmed the nocturnal sabotage of my dreams
luxuriating in the moon
late afternoon shops
even the warm fingertips and loose lips of assorted women.
I chose swiftly and
randomly enough brief peace could be found in
cheap hotels …
but soon she would find
and the rotten cobwebs became the brightest thing in the room.
Lucius Rofocale was raised by wolves in the wilderness, but despite being ’rescued’ and indoctrinated as Homo-sapiens remains very feral. Lucius desires to attack cultural, social, religious and political Status Quo and have fun doing it. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org
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