The Zen,
The bloody fingered
Bean cans frozen
On a Brooklyn tip.
The crash pads I never
Really knew,
The dreams we shared
Together as
Lovers of obscurity
I love you,
Oh, I
Love you all the same.

The hooded
Monks who chant
The mantras piercing
The subconscious mind,
The Imitation of Christ
Lies abandoned by
The garden wall- for

The once original
Phrases that have now
Become a bore,
I really want
To say
Them all again.





Mike Mcnamara
Illustration Nick Victor

This entry was posted on in homepage and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.