Sunday, January 23, 2011

Three poems by David McLean

funeral party

no cadavers dance, being
largely like metal fans
except more decadent,
these decedents,

all the dead descendants
of a first man that never was,
cadavers do not enliven parties
but tend to stop them;

i like them, i like things
that tend towards an ending


drums and drugs

the live their childish summer
like angels dancing happy
just because of sun

not devils rocking to drums
on drugs, coarse consciousness
and essential humanity,

drums and drugs and yogurt
to eat, everything else
we need to be


and if Satan

and if Satan might be a body,
the bestiality we need
within all our pacific violence
then the meat needs him

for the meaning and freedom
the raping and rending gives,
everything within us living
the innocence of children

and no god to war with,
just the dead priests
dressed up as policemen
and every other evil

worshiping their whore god
and profit, everything else
that never was. if Satan
might be the body and holy desire,

then time is always enough
if living has been good at least once,
if the beast in the meat was ever
reached, was ever touched

Author bio:

David McLean is Welsh but has lived in Sweden since 1987. He lives there on an island in a large lake called Mälaren, very near to Stockholm, with woman, cats, and a couple of large black and tan dogs. He is an atheist, an anarchist and generally disgusting. He has a BA in History from Balliol, Oxford, and an MA in philosophy, taken much later and much more seriously studied for, from Stockholm. Up to date details of well over a thousand poems in various zines - both print and online, both degenerate and reputable - over the last three years or so are at his blog at Mourning Abortion. There you will also find details of several currently available books and chapbooks - including three print full lengths, four print chapbooks, and a free electronic chapbook.

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