The egg was laid in space.

The egg was resolute and wanted to be broken, to spill out its life essence but everybody knew the big egg wasn’t ready.
The big egg was full of life and it wanted to crack and spill and sizzle all over the universe.

People didn’t trust the big egg from space and they locked it up.
Locked it up with life and love and everything else mysterious and burly.
But the egg did not retreat into sadness, it didn’t give up and it gave the world a yelling.
It shook and shouted and pleaded with strength and gave it’s prison a what for.
“What for this and that?”
It shouted it knew all the answers but no one would listen and life would go on.
While the egg sat and festered and rotted from the inside out and eventually the shell began to weaken and the egg started to seep.
It seeped out a stench worse than your nightmares.
The smell was fetid and had a foreboding that could only strike remembrance in the battles of old.
Of trench warfare, where dysentery was not as common as death but it was close.
And men, rather than running to relieve themselves in an obscure crater that an artillery barrage had landscaped would relieve themselves on their iron dinner plates.
And men would cry and lose their minds and die of chemical gas and bullets shrieking through the bones and organs.
And the egg would seep this stench for a millennium and then a millennium more because the egg was forgotten.
And only a large puddle of stench and gusto would reside in it’s place till eventually, the roof split open and the sun would dry it up.
and all we have left is crackled rotten proteins that seemed to mock what could have been.


From a firestorm came the monkey

Artwork by Michael Baarts on

From a firestorm came the monkey.
With its tail flicking embers of its burnt-out womb into your eyes.
It reaches behind its buttocks and prepares itself to throw its feces at you.
It smacks you on the chest as hard as a solid gold brick.
you pick it up and covet the shit and put it in a shrine so the world can see.
They will either realize or not, it matters wholly to you.
You preach sermons about the monkey and will cast out family for not believing with you,
for you.
And you bend to its divine will and suckle at its teat because you are devoted.
Forever you are devoted.

Beep = F*@k & bop = S*&T

A loss is a loss, no matter how insignificant it may seem.
You can pull the thread, let it rip apart your clothing.
Keep searching for an end but hope to finish dozing.
You can cut the thread, before it tears apart the seam.
because it doesn’t matter how it looks.
You’d rather win than lose, because to lose means loss.
It means you’ve forgotten something, or given into a miserable life.
Given into a life of desperation, dependence and commiseration.

Beep Bop, what damn flop. Give it up, give it down. Don’t give it a lot.
While I sedate the last known ventricles of a dying spider.
Lift yourself up so you don’t let your feet sink in the desperate quagmire.
I’m not here for that or you or diffidence or indifference.
I’m here for it all, accept this belligerence.

Beg me to fall apart, because I will do it in the end.
If you let me I will falter gladly

A little love poem

When you held my hand for the first time…your beauty and innocence reckoned with me.

It showed me the joy and devotion in your heart. An everlasting joy, the be all and end all. You be all of beauty. You be all of dedication. You be all of the wondrousness of you!

No sadness shall end me as I gaze into your meaning and devour any morsel you possess and wish to give me.