Rhyymes over crimes
verbs divide as knives
plunged deep into keyboards,
if God was drunk at the Last Supper
the chalice fell from my mantlepiece
Litte Miss Poetry came to my room
wearing a red typewriter, did I really
see a folded negligee on empty pages
and would you have straddled me
licking pearls from last breath of my skin?
As the sunset comes to meet
the evening on an internet hill,
my cursor cries for celibacy
and roams around Welsh gravestones.
You were s.h.o.p.p.i.n, g
could you have bought me?
When you open your legs
would you please think kindly of me,
I’m simply a Mercy Man
who places care in suitcases








The twist and turns you have going here had me laughing and then my mouth was hanging open. Interesting piece
Powerfully penned, Ghosteen. Another excellent write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian