Three Poems by Roibeard Ui-neill
*3cc’s of blue-collar psycho-babble*
“… God help me, and God damn it…” Jack Kerouac
Yeah, where the rubber meets the road, you can find a raccoon
digitally accomplished enough to roll a joint- we’ll smoke
until we have black rings around our eyes, be alter egos of
the man in the moon,
roll slowly sweet jalopy,
white tachyons split
on the windshield: snowflakes, fluff,
huffing & puffing Voidward.
With what religion do coal-eyed
& carrot-nosed snowmen
warm their mittens?
& have they ever experienced
dark-ringed nipples melting in their mouths?
*9cc’s of blue-collar psycho-babble*
“There isn’t anyone whose death I haven’t longed for.” –E.M. Cioran
The flap of an envelope is coated with the gum to close
a tongue’s self-inflicted paper cut. It may be the beauty
of Anti-Flag’s Canadian lilt when they sing “Fuck You!”
My neurons are clogged-
i have no nanomachines
to seek & destroy
the exoskeletons of
wasps smothered between panes of
pain - our lives should be as intense
as ultraviolet &
infrared - our love
should break the glass in museums-
no longer on display,
all of us
by red blood cell courier,
determined to give the Ephemeral Nihilist
who decided navels where sphincters
incapable of a graceful exit,
a taste of His own medicine.
*14 cc’s of blue-collar psycho-babble*
What is mind? No matter. What is matter? Never mind.”
Yet, here we are, scrapes & scabs popping off a bright idea
once in a great while, be it the geometry of a satellite’s flight,
or the surgical precision of a quadruple by-pass.
is the technical term for
the awareness of
our bodies in space &
time. Pneumatocentric is
the technical term given
to the soul resenting
our blunt bodies.
Peace shall the 2 never know.
to destroy the rooted fetus
before it’s ensouled.
The hand wiping the end of
the alimentary canal
paints “American Gothic”
or writes The Age Of Reason.
Tousles a child’s hair.
Maybe that’s the obvious truce.
Until we mature,
transcend our flesh,
become entities of
laughing at our former gripes
retaining fond memories
of its tug of war
with sperm, egg, & soul.