Daniel f. Bradley


fur trimmed myth of wine

intellertainer in made lines cow
boys on the steps low on the tofu
we only sea the bright nest of
our lovelies so said wow it’s
nasty and i lean form my
basement hockey dimmer

fuck you sun nothing justa
smoke section for the fur
trimmed myth of wine all
in this together the community
knows that their is evil inside
out common welfare the sect

has no common welfare it’s
almost like it never got to here
the tango in bird voice the throat
cud clear little pencil markings
grey scale my my shoe eye

slogan tee those eyes may my
eye chuckle hand palm up standing
around move is movement this
breath the cough of practice of
this dance more important sew many

words to get hear the background
class war we fought to get this fled
jogging tow opera from of a story

lived out the english


forty and not so cynically depressed

can’t decide between the pacifier
and the fist you use to be one
of the rotten ones

don’t kill just dilute whitey
can we get a little bit more
of me i keep forgetting latin

to warn in everyday italian
profound knowable into ancients
history low n load who
wasn’t he the man in bear

skin a living damper asking
for help evensong holding out
steady to a message a blurry
photograph a calendar on

tack not to let go on and on
endless steam of same getting
the message a pick of litter
narrative you rawk all over

yourself little bits painfully
sky stewing about little
hot pant left got better quiet
left still hear

not gone and i love you for that




Daniel f. Bradley lives in toronto and has a little zine thing called fhole that publishes poems, visual and not, 4 times a year. He has a blogspot over here, and his last biggy book was A Boy's First Book of Chlamydia: Poems 1996-2002, (BOOKTHUG 2005). He lives with his girlfriend and his daughter.

 
 
 
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