Writings

Subburnabla

Larry, Tim, Peter, Saul, William, Carl, Lee, Jake, Richard, Sam, Eliot, Macy, Lucy, Jane, Mary, Jean, Elizabeth, May, Wendy, Lilly, Fanny and Viv all live in Subburnabla and they are very, very happy. They work Monday to Friday and love their jobs. They drive to the station to catch the train. The train takes them […]

TUNE IN THE DUSK

If I were a song, I’d come up at sunset onto the porch. Occupy the rocker. Crack the digits, knuckle by knuckle. Smooth my lap, eying the evening star touch your heart. Wouldn’t stick around long. Back and forth, forth and back, slow enough to sip from the fifth; between wobbling to the mosquito, the […]

Poetry is…

Poetry is More popular online than proseWho reads anything Except writers Poetry is Not a get rich quick scheme Or a school report F Poetry is A dirty old maggot Dancing to Ricky Martin In an old drunks’ tavern Poetry isTurning up late for classShoelaces untiedReeking of cigarettes Poetry isPoetry isWhat can it beBaby feet […]

Death

He is dead. He cannot feel the bed underneath him or the blanket wrapped around him or the pillow that is propping up his head. He died in his sleep. Peacefully. His heart. He cannot move his arms, hands, fingers, or legs, feet, toes. This does not perplex him because he knows when you are […]

Self-portrait

Don’t stare into the mirror for too long, you’ll go mad. Does my side view make me look smart with an air of timeless mystique like the portraits of Chekhov. Or my front view for when my professionalism is too much for you to withstand – I was made for good work. Or the body […]

freedom day

take back controlget Brexit donestay homeprotect the NHSsave lives silenced with noisepolitics and socialmedia politics and social media the sweetestpill to swallow freedom day. Bogdan Tiganov

DAD DEAD HAPPY

1915-1994 Out on the bay in a boat fishing. Ballgame on the radio. Home team in the ninth battling from behind. Big one about to bite. Watch keeping perfect time. Check in the mail. Wife at home, roasting beef to a tee. Gravy boat on the table brimful.   Golf tomorrow ineluctable. He smiles into […]

The insincerity of words

I read somewhere about the insincerity of words –writers bullshitting their way through, fakehere lying through the keyboardmasking cowardice with words –I’m a scared little boy desperateto woo you with these words. Beneath all this fluffI’m a barely functioning idiot, that’s all. Bogdan Tiganov

New religions

Social media is a religiongaming is a religionbig techthe corporate world – there’s always an altarpo-faced blind faithmoneyhopeand everlasting life. Bogdan Tiganov

World 2.0

I live in a world wherepeople are nine-foot tall eunuchscrouching into tiny white cars,dipping into bland little flats,where no one fucks andthought’s been replaced bysocial filters and clickbait…a world where I stare at a screen, or two,every single day waiting for the rectangular bastardto tell me what to do, how, and when. Bogdan Tiganov

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