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The Bread and His Hair and His Face the oathThe Bread and His Hair and His Face by ~trynke
the moon
the tap
no spoon
no bread
is left
the big man
the neat suit
and that face
his greasy hair
my man
is dead
no bread
is left
original Dutch version:
ons brood
de eed
de maan
de kraan
is leeg
ons brood
is op
verstopt
de grote man
het nette pak
en dat gezicht
zijn vette haar
en dit gedicht
mijn man
is dood
het brood
is op
The Rumour of Icarus Icarus—The Rumour of Icarus by ~Opus-T
there is a rumour that your father killed you, that
he bent your wings until they broke and then
told you, "Fly."
If this rumour is true, then it lives in the throats of
those fragile boys who wear your death like Cain's mark,
whose tender hands split like swollen tomatoes when
they pluck strangled seabirds, whose
arms slump beneath the weight of their father's genius.
And this rumour lives on
the under-skin of their eyelids so that when they die
or simply sleep
they dream of their fathers
or maybe just of Daedalus, standing with
his hands full of feathers and wax,
their blood-flecked down under his fingernails
Sta.sh
Optimism 
on 
