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all words and art are copyright © of cocaine jesus.
minima-B was an idea for my poetry and art to combine. hugely influenced by haiku, hence the minima and also by basho and beefheart, hence the B. i would like to think that i had, like my great hero, captain beefheart, created, by merging various elements, something new. something a little different. unique even. i probably haven't but i am very proud of these works. here, then, are my arty farty bits.

frost fingers constrict rubber throat.
breath crashes steel thread razorwire.
the dark crushes bow wing ribs.
life falls trembling into the pillowed pit.
the precocious fear of angels.

Do not forget to visit Fekenham Swarberry for your weekly village update
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all words and art are copyright © of cocaine jesus.

Hi Boys and Girls!
I'm Cocaine Jesus.
Homo Sapien.
Homo Erectus.
Homo Superior.
Heterosexual but I love canines.
And felines.
My sexuality is my own business but I keep a clean house.
I am well disorganised.
I speak fluent gibberish on several continents.
I preach what I practise but without candor.
Do not believe everything that you hear.
I am streamlining my personal evolution.
No potions are available.
All options are viable.
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Do not forget to visit Fekenham Swarberry for your weekly village update
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all words and art are copyright © of cocaine jesus.



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all words and art are copyright © of cocaine jesus.



i lied when i said i love you.
i don't.
sorry.
i think that i was confusing affection with desire.
it all got mixed up.
i mean, i feel something for you but...
not love.
i really didn't mean to hurt you.
i still want to be friends.
more than that.
more than just friends.
but i can see from your eyes that you wanted more.
sometimes though, the warmth of two bodies touching is the most human act of compassion i can think of.
do you know what i mean?
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all words and art are copyright © of cocaine jesus.
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all words and art are copyright © of cocaine jesus.
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A cacophony of stars.
Blinking, blind and brilliant.
That spun a druid curse of vapour trail cloud.
Violence dressed in flowers.
Henchmen rode silver back snails
Over slate grey tiles cracked by age.
sunlight fled the scene like butter
dripping in a pulse of liquid confusion.
My heart felt the distant emotion
of unsatisfied yearning.
A bitter taste of lost salt that plied
my tongue with the heavy scent
of musk, of diamonds, of starlight.
Heaven felt like hell but hell was where the heart was.
Do not forget to visit Fekenham Swarberry for your weekly village update
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the games played are rare and swift.
better to remember the open hand than the closed fist.
to suffer little thought to think
but salve souls with the balm of reality.
everything has its price in this dull market place.
and now the myths of my making come back to haunt me.


she has no time for faith.
'try catching god in a wind sock' she would mock.

solace found in moist moments
when the moon rises high and the wind twists another
shadow upon the watchful walls
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Time to catch up on all the weeks events over at Fekenham Swarberry
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all words and art are copyright © of cocaine jesus.
i've bottled me up in green
where the insects never crawl.
there are maggots in the machine,
lifeless.
robotic.
they slide and chew and feast on.
humdrum in the cold heart.
but the roots trail below me.
dark and strong and hallowed.
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all words and art are copyright © of cocaine jesus.
I am looking for a way that isn’t bruised
I am searching for a sign that isn’t used
A group magazine of glossy pics
A silent mouth

Time to catch up on all the weeks events over at Fekenham Swarberry