For Every Tib and Tom Cat


23. gods - the posthumous ones

Crawling gods hairy dark unkillable

Giddily slither the bugs

With their lily-like harpoons their beady eyes

Their many legs hairy and black

Their mottled glans

Their puce prepuces

Their bleating mouths

Their unctuous invocations

Their vicious hearts

Their wrinkled assholes from where volumes

Are shitted of quivering stinking platitudes...

I’ve been a secretary to a dentist

To a clumsy dentist I might add

I’ve seen pain

I’ve seen faces scorched and flayed


The faces you’d see when you opened the iron maiden’s door

And the fellow inside had been pierced through the nose

The eyes the mouth

His bowels topsy-turvy

His organs every which way

And burst you bet

Susurrant seeping garbledly gurgling

Telling one to pull the chain on it all

Once and for all

The deed done...

I’ve been smirking high on a booster seat

Fronting the circus

I’ve even had my courage briefly rubbed off

My heart lumbering

My blood whipping

My lungs yammering nonsense

When for pure pukka tiptop deterrence a beast jumped on the bleachers

We keen on aucupation

A hawk feeding on the filthy wealthy

Extracting its tithe on the eyes of the onlookers:

There is something as having too much fun...

But those bugs

Those bugs were unkillable

Did I try to stick up their asses a stick of dynamite...?

Did I ever!

But no

No event so singular that could end them

Not even a nuclear bomb making a dent

Their atoms undetachable

Tightly bound with an inexpugnable glue

Are they gods...?

They must be

Probably the original ones

Or else the posthumous ones

The gods we left behind

For that’s the only way to kill them

To kill the unkillable bugs or gods

Shadowy presences nibbling gnawing

Ratty rotting

Fraying scouring

At the dusty corners under your bed

Thereabouts ubiquitous

Scrunching freely

Corroding your corns your feet

And beyond

Your innards

Your soul – membranous tattered torn down...

By wiping your conscience clean

Tabula rasa

Die please die


And thus kill the gods.

Never so well

Never so well


anyocs de nyacs!

who the 'ell?

La meva foto
C.R. Morell his paltry efforts,