Muse in pixels

Muse in pixels

Lost in real-time.


A fortress of clouds.

And there sat xyr.

Troll-feeding, uploading.

A gigabyte collective.

Cranking up the keyboard, xe.

Bid me sniff this diffusion.


Armineonila M., July 2015

Tour de farce

Tour de farce

How gaah, the poem

that butchered a piece of wisdom,

an inch of a syllable;

then buried a piece of truth

in a selfie of words –

the masturbation of the trivial,

essence be gone.


“Feign solidarity, y’all,

and hashtag empathy!”

The bard in LV flip flops

kicked the muses’ asses

for auld lang syne’s sake:

“J***-us, burn the Burns

for a good ol’ LOL’s sake!”

Blame the witches,

you know, like they were kings

we’ve caught in a battle of wifis

that sustains the haut monde,

umm, gerber-suckling to Paris

like THE Paris on a plane.

C’mon, do me a favour!

Let you like me, share me,

smh, comment on me

with photoshopped smiles,

with bonbon-ic emoticons!

Some things were lost

between the tug of glitz,

and the pity was deleted

from the sceptic tank of logic;

believing that in war or feast

abattoirs were concealed.




Diamonds and elegies.


Armineonila M.

July 2015

Let’s in-side the Hope-Eater

Let’s in-side the Hope-Eater

Nothing inside the Hope-Eater
than the Hope-Eater’s void

whose life is nowhere than never
and cooks freshly-picked naivety

and wakes a walk towards south empty

Emp-ty as though the shape
of the Hope-Eater’s head.

Every now and then it dines
in tiny buckets of promises
for candy taste buds and bets

a ton of lollipop-ey smirks!

The Hope-Eater is an anywhere
wall of some bling-bling tower
grabbing elbows and knees
with its much preferred gaze.

But the one thing it does best
than own one’s ribs, intestines,
liver, wrists, and skull

is swallow the spark
of a doggerel bard.

-Armineonila M.


Borg of the Been Street

Borg of the Been Street

A girl once lived at Been Street
she was called by a name
a name by the window pane–

A lovely lively name.

A brother sat by her side
by the sidewalk by the lane
filching plain prickly chain

Then one day came a Borg
that lived on needle and pin

offered them a dip in the bin
spaghetti trash heavy cream

“Let’s make a bubble party!”

They set a table at mid Been Street
at midday cardboard covering feet
and fiddled a pitchfork violin:

“Halt! All you passersby,
pass by the Been Street
pass a loaf of bread,
the Borg shall starve
should we all be dead!

A girl once lived by a name
a name unknown in Been Street,
she met a Borg one day
and took her to Borg District.

-Armineonila M.


In Kuietterland

In Kuietterland

Only crazy feet come to Kuietterland
Only crazy wilting puppies licking seats

The mammals sink under their feet
sing the sole bunny beat

for suckerland

then smell the stench of trickery
in muzzled symmetry…

Oh, poor puppies

envy the falcons’ helipads
and hypochondriac horses

sing the sole bunny beat:

“Lick the dishes,
lick the floor,
use your head
to shut the door!

Only one way route to Kuietterland
Only throttled barking lasts

Lift the mob with poor dead puppies
Kuietterland pays cold burnt bars.

-Armineonila M.