My Blah
My new website
Come on, come all...to Tarkan's new website. It's a blast. No, really...it is.
www.tarkanrosenberg.com
I want my money back
Time martyrs faith and reckless children.Leaf twitching air like early cadaver,
feeding spite reverent and ghosts and knees falling…
Head falling on head falling to mud.
Chaste she buckled earth shivering
Violence shedding youth, shivering blood and cum, love shedding shit.
And shivered.
Where's the kingdom He promised?
Rome crashing. Ghetto seeping bile. Human wasted, human
drowned. Time martyring faith butchering pink flesh grey,
putrid stains to bone, hot sickly pissing tar.
Levelling livers and life, leaving leery lurking lust.
Where's the love He offered?
Cold, dribbling madman.
Like father who smiled, and crumbled smiling.
Breath of pus dying, eyes dry—bread that never rose.
I rose once in mother’s plump vineyard, luring larks aloft with wind lifting wings.
Sated purple princes cloaked seamlessly firm, in beds in pans. In boxes.
Bottles that wretch poison, spitting reptilian cunt martyrs fools and wasted martyrs
and lovers rose, rose then flailed, carrot dangling, give her take her give her take her
give her take her give her take her...
I vomit love.
And leave empty, lilting.
"Reflecting on Winter as a Child" OR "Mama's love hates me" OR "37th revision of something I scribbled in a crusty notebook five long, spiteful years ago"
I have space.Mild, cozy.
Yeasty like fresh infant.
Crisp, even death outside.
The sun is kind.
Calm snow loves me.
Kisses cheeks with raw silence.
Mother makes.
Butter satisfies.
Warm now.
Full now.
Asleep now.
Dreaming now.
Dreamless now.
Awake now.
Empty now.
Cold now.
Butter kills.
Mother hurts.
Kisses cheeks with raw silence.
Loud snow hates me.
Sun is mean.
Crisp, even death inside.
Yeasty like fresh cadaver.
Hot, sticky.
Space has me.
I smoke vehemently,
spitting fumes and soliloquies
wherever the patient grace.
And dab pity on cuts,
like some tossed athlete.
I might have downloaded
anger, by mistake. The way
I do from time to time,
when looking for feet.
But I hate her for the love she offers.
Like I hate sunshine for bothering the night.
And love her when she dreams.
The way I don't.
From time to time.
Distractions disgrace.
However hopelessy benign.
And seams burst, revealing death,
the way a liver liquifies,
and rancid blood follows—
Torrents of essence, and life,
that cascade from his face.
Yellow eyes who gather guilt.
And hands that glide from brow to chin.
Scaly, damp and warm and reckless.
Merely a boy,
who skinned his knees on air.
