Archive for January, 2020

This is what a nuclear weapon does to flesh

Posted in Uncategorized on January 6, 2020 by antonyowen

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Cast our Disney-eyed wonderment away to truth
for this is what a nuclear weapon will do to flesh.
Give me a photograph of your lover, thank you for the gift, I shall begin.

I’ll save your lover from the fire by choosing an Iranian new-born,
already we feel relieved and consider escaping
this is your last chance; will you save yourself?

The insignificant Iranian baby was born near perfect –
apart from a birthmark which shall offend a star
but perfect he is and made from love and human oils.

The baby will split like atoms seen only by puking Gods.
Give me photograph of that apple you are peeling
that baby is that apple now boil it to 5000 degrees for seconds.

We are not done! The baby cannot crawl from flames.
Am I being unreasonable? Shall l turn the fire down lower?
Butane-blue is not a colour to attract crowds at the Atomic Motel.

Check in to the Atomic Motel and let us see the deaths,
how the colour of hair paints into inferno reds and browns.
Look, I just trod into a chandelier of a ribcage, its red lamps.

Shall we move on to other examples or leave it at infanticide?
Genocide? Humanicide? God will decide, or maybe not.
It is time for me to go I outstayed my welcome at the title.

Have you gone? Go away, I am fanning atoms of babes into jars.
I shall present them to God and tell her I was once innocent,
Hell is nothing to fear, we hold it in our very hands willingly.

New Iranian Proverbs

Posted in Uncategorized on January 5, 2020 by antonyowen
person holding a burning news paper close up photography

Photo by Connor Danylenko on

The first oil was a baby in birth scarlets
Taking a mother’s breath away is no theft
That shall come later in the thieving winter
A house of five generations will grey tongues of unmapped towns.

The second oil was two black circles as her breasts wept into linen
No one will fight for this oil but Mothers.
The fathers curse useless hands and yell
Each moon without babe’s stone them pale.

Breathe, let us change the form of this poem like forcibly changed lives
let us allow the human to address itself in us,
a firefly does not burn it is a trick of nature
a human does not drown in liquid Androids.

The last oil was not yet crude, was made up of fish souls and shells
I can hear a baby whisper in its blackness
I can see a billion fireflies emerge like stars
Hiroshima zombies with skin hanging from fingernails.