A Familiar Walk

With a blink, nimble in thought 

I placed my pen on a familiar walk. 

Where lives lay spurned, bit my tongue 

I wrote of hills through a rolling fog. 

Thought of woods, spat on path, 

Pressing stones on chest again. 

Paddle-prodded, iron maiden chaste, 

Stockade garments, forever stained. 

Sick of sight, sick of you, 

Sending shade through shapeless gloom. 

With your sickened mind 

Worn gaunt & glum 

I'd rather take clamps-to-tongue. 

And revel in these pressing words 

Than remain to you, judgment shunned. 

Of this head, felt bound & stripped 

Dunking chair: memories drenched. 

On River Row mine love laments: 

"Fuck You Cunt. Drown the witch."