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Poetry by David Hay

Voiceless

D1
Good lord, this is a spineless wreck of a man.



Worrying but definitely comical



Filthy mouth, dirty tongue–
Shows an obvious lack of respect for hygiene



He is addled no doubt
by Freudian demons,



The mind must be a catalogue of perversity.



Dead by 25.



Look at his eyes they never sit still



To transcribe his delusions?



Oh dear



His privates are nothing to speak of,



The penis must always return
To its flaccid state



Stare at him until he
internalizes our judgement



Embarrassed by bodily functions.
Note it down.



Thoughts are equal to actions



Watch him, his internal monologue
has done a runner



Grub his brain and
Let him take his nourishment



Mark one of your cocktails
He’s looping anyway



Get a cigar ready and a segment of orange
Put Charlie Parker on
And put some vomit of Kerouac in his hands



His life will be ascribed a yearly value



My daughters are depending on him.



Mundane



If he wakes



The eart is still round



He feels no one loves him



He read too much Tolstoy when he was 18



Perversion comes naturally for pacifists.
His thoughts are not special



He is normal and the world
Mirrors every one of his fears



The base facts



19 and a nervous breakdown



25

D2



Doctor, he has the same facial expression as a worm,



Yes I agree, quite humorous





Quite repulsive, interesting but Repulsive



If the body symbolises impurity,



Exactly Doctor. Exactly.



Dead by 25.




Give him a crayon, primary coloured and suicide proof



Enter them,



Thumb his scars (a command)



His girlfriend–well women are always disappointed.



All men are weak.




Cum flows grey like freight trains




He is still ruled by sin



Such words birth psychotics





He’ll be too much of himself for the rest of the day.



Pornographic filth has overrun his nerves



There is no cure for being a man






His age is his main illness.




He is an investment,
I’d bet my house on it.



His death will be



And full of beige roses



Console him



It still charts gravity’s path around the sun



It is always the mother



Roosevelt was right.





His illness is common and speaks not of artistic depths



The key facts



The things he knows but can’t accept



Pathetic.

David Hay

Twitter: @arched_roadway

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