we stitched night together

we stitched night together again from hope,
like the shroud of reason with rotting gobbets
of memory sloughing away from it, the skin
of a history or an injurious ideology
that crawled away to die like a pessimist snake,

yet still wakeful, still noticing there was nothing there
and that we were totally empty, that luscious nonentity
that fills itself with lies and noise, and whores its mourning
around this necropolis like empathy existed. we stitched
it up like industrious vampires - people are all fucking ghouls

but most of these undead bitches are titless anorexics,
though we are gluttons for suffering, and i
am frankly greedy, with so many walking corpses
stinking of oblivion like rotting toothless cunts around me
i need to be – i like the dying and their suffering

meat feeds me. my interest in pain is culinary


David McLean
David McLean is Welsh though he has lived, rather reluctantly, in Sweden since 1987. So he knows what it's like to be dead. He has a couple of chapbooks out, one a free download, here, at Whyvandalism. The other, in print, can be ordered at http://www.erbacce-press.com/davidmclean/4527659941. He has a full length poetry collection available at Whistling Shade Press called Cadaver's dance. It can be ordered on alibris.com or on amazon.com. A second book of 128 pp is coming from Erbacce-press in August, "pushing lemmings." There is a self-published book of 109 pages at Lulu called "eating your night" - http://www.lulu.com/content/2756039. There are round 600 poems now in, or forthcoming, in just over 250 magazines online and/or in print. Details are at his blog at htpp://mourningabortion.blogspot.com.