The Cyclotronic Till

Posted: May 20, 2010 in Poetry

The Cyclotronic Till


Onlyness turned inside out,

Poking at it with a sharp stick it is.

It has no smell

It is going nowhere.

It is here always

Like a best friend,

or a cancer.

Like the Borld Wank

the eternal enemy

I know its face intimately

We are best mates.

Buddies for life

armstrong locked in a Mexican friendship ring

It never has to call

But I always answer.

We know the routine.


atom heads

shoot writers’ thoughts at each other

until they split into laughter and trembling bright texts.

l and my own!

beautiful wishes

transmogrified to silver fishes 

not unlike your survival Soirée



a survival story




obsessed but always feeling the poke of Onlyness’ stick.

  1. BFL says:



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