Sunday, July 11, 2010

We Mint A Sullen Currency

we mint a sullen currency

we mint the sullen loveless currency
of suffering to wild coins in this twilight
we like to call life,

because night sheds skins and switches them
like werewolves once, the sword
of the complacent centurion

that slew the beast and skewered him
in dreams. he might have been justice
dressed in the body of Oliver Reed convincing

as a drunken thug; because some things
do not need acting, the murder and the cruelty
are resolute drugs, they come before us free like paper

chains, to paint pain's sullen currency in the blood,
gold coins like pointless paper oblates,
words enough

David McLean is Welsh but has lived in Sweden since 1987. He lives there on an island in a large lake called Mälaren, very near to Stockholm, with woman, cats, kittens, and a couple of dogs. He has a BA in History from Balliol, Oxford, and an MA in philosophy, taken much later and much more seriously studied for, from Stockholm. This is just one of the things that makes him so boring. Up to date details of many zine publications and several available books and chapbooks, including three print full lengths, a few print chapbooks, and a free electronic chapbook, are at his blog at

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