The Election.  

    Your Duplicity
    My Jokes

    Your Corruption
    My Amusement

    Your Pomposity
    My Exasperation

    Your Arrogance
    My Pain

    Your Face
    My Arse

    Len Breen (2008)


    I exist no longer
    I existed once
    Upon a time
    No more of me
    But these words
    Perhaps the worms
    Who feste upon me
    I have escaped hell
    You know
    Existing no longer

    But not you
    Not yet exited
    So you gaze
    Upon the wreckage
    Ponder the slaughter
    Address the corpses
    And you exist
    I have gone
    So you own hell itself
    You know
    Your hell not mine
    I exist no longer

    Len Breen (2009)

An Archaeology.  

    I don't know who to tell.
    Can't find anyone to notify.
    A cryptic symbol, or code, that
    reveals first clues, then richer
    indications of a former civilization
    that existed here, in this place,
    sometime ago, or recently.

    I cannot do anything
    but compound the mystery.
    With every line,
    word, pattern, field, raving scrawl,
    I just dig a deeper mountain.
    A long lost culture, once a sovereign
    state of just one.

    The archaeology of my mind, I dig.
    Set out the baulks, record the finds,
    translate the evidence, affirm the
    existence of the tribe - once mine.

    Write a paper, publish the proof.
    I exist - or no, existed - the secret
    codes, the baffling cryptograms -
    but evidence? Affirmation?

    Len Breen (2009)