Forgive me lord, for I have sinned,

Though I know not from what,

Perhaps it is my lack of sleep

That puts me in this rut,

I hear the devil’s words at night

Those fears he does incite,

Those spiders in my flapping skin

Awakening the blight,

Those nails, long and unabridged

That petrissage my nose

And leave my head in search of space,

My mind now food for crows

My thoughts are filled with viscera

And smut and ill intent,

I am too tired to write of it,

I am too spent to vent.

Oh, where have all the good words gone?

When were the muses slain?

When did their ashes swirl about

And scatter in the rain?

Calliope, I knew her

Alas, she is but bone

Her slaughter beamed in colour

Onto every screen and phone

Oh, do take her to Funkytown!

Do grind her into dust!

Do lock her in a crypt behind

Some Oedipusic lust!

Do push her torso further down

Into the tumble dryer!

Do violate her bareback

And keep her in the mire!

Do trap her in the monkey cage

Until she howls and cries!

Do light a mourning cigarette

And burn her as she dies.

Our planet is a news stand,

A disparate mess of views,

A million little stimulants

We can’t help but abuse,

The papers are for dressing up

The algorithmic fronts,

A journalist for everything

And nothing all at once,

The world it must be seen not told

And never must it rhyme,

To sing is to be Dada

And it surely is a crime,

So melt into your cabriolet

And pour yourself a scotch,

For when there’s so much happening

We can do nought but watch.