Poetry: Selections from Julian Thumm
The serpent of weakness
i.
There is
no fucking Übermensch
just our
shiftless disgrace
& the
viper’s strike
our
pitiful attempt at the hunt
while the
gleeful prey mockingly scampers
and we
slink back
to our
barren hovels
to
shamefully milk
our
short-eyed venom
Adam’s rib
removed
grotesquely
hung
&
beneath this shrivelled memento
this
freudian heirloom
we
reluctantly bend
to take in
our tails
for the
deep-throat ouroboros
the hectic
schism
the
flaccid failure
the
tantalising taste
of our own
blandest toxins
ii.
Solitude
is privilege
a
mountainous refuge
from the
house on the lake
a
defensive timepiece
of dubious
chronology
each
irregular tick a monastic toll
that rolls
across the bridges and valleys
of
middling delights
to the
maddening serfs' indifferent ears
a drug to
which the over-damaged
are
morbidly drawn
a
solipsistic echo chamber
of cryptic
mantras
and hymnal
chants
a crutch
for the melting face
of one's most vital illusions
Guilt, shame, regret
(and
other things I discuss with my therapist)
The louse
in the rim
feels the
tongue’s flick
the worm’s
shudder
the septic
tang on the buds
the saline
quease
the
concrete fist
the slick
of anal gestation
the sweet
quiver of loathing
if my mother could see me now…
No black bread or vodka
Hungry
& distraught
on a
nameless morning
I sit
with
Rodion
Romanovich
in a
basement bar
hidden
from the lunar waves
constellations
& sunspots
& all
their fraying threads
no black
bread
or vodka
between us
just the
pestle
an
accusation that looms
as we
cough out our pleasantries
aimless
words nothing more
than fetid
bile from the liver
of a stray
gutter mongrel
with no
more grasp
on its
fate than we
apex
sinners that we are
Julian Thumm is a fledgling poet from Melbourne, Australia. He studied literature and professional writing and now works as a corporate shill, selling his corrupted pen to the highest bidder. His poetry is an attempt to make sense of a lifetime of bad choices.
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