Wednesday, June 20, 2018

All fucked up #1

I know a guy
who put a gun
to his head.

He missed
so he tried again
and again he missed.

We'd play Boule
a French game of bowls
along an old walking track

below the house of wonders
where every room
was a fairytale of strange
stories from around the world.

Shiva and Buddha,
Jesus and the white witch
welcomed us in the winter light,
a celebration of madness.

I only won one game in all
the years I knew him.

He was a breathing, eating, shitting,
walking talking Buddha man
with only five percent eyesight,
an ocean of nectar, a universe
of equanimity.


  1. Replies
    1. P.S. Up to you but for ease of reference etc, you might want the entry header to read name, number, title, e.g. Kit Kelen #902 - the shining ;)

  2. Wow Ken! Fantastic story - I want to hear more.
    I did a series (around the #80 mark roughly) about poetry, words and fucked up things - some of them even moved in the night! So welcome to the "fucked up poets" blog! Looking forward to reading more of your work.


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