your personal jesus

i am what i am
your very own spinning wheel
spin me until you get what you feel
or put me on a car, i will get you far
or put a hamster in me so
we get nowhere fast, i do not care

take me down off the tree
whenever you need a reason
i am your dedicated fruit machine
a revolving door of tide & whim
a cog in the christian fascist regime
a twist of the key in a nail scarred hand

i am what you say that i say i am
at which point i frankly don’t give a damn
whatever you need is all i can be
but there is one thing i would ask of you
to put me back when you are done

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2026

two years, eleven months, seventeen days

the black stains
of morning coffee
on a white tablecloth

others prefer fortune telling
with coffee grounds
but i believe in vapour
& its aerial butoh dance
above the cup’s abyss

forbearance sucks
& gravitas falls
on the white tablecloth

i see bare, broken twigs
against a blue sky
will this coffee be the only darkness
that fills me today
i take a sip, open my news feed

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2025

tumbleweed

i’ve wandered far from the shadow where i fell
‘tween the rotted roots of concrete monuments
& the ever glacial drift of meaning

they call me cottonmouth behind my back but
who among can boast of less complicity
or with forethought exercise restraint
& concede that less could be more

at least i’ll admit i am not here to teach you
so learn for yourselves of the self & its value
in this late stage cage of crumbling margins

they call me cottonmouth behind my back but
who among comprehend the half-life of aeons
or can find wisdom so thoroughly hidden
& concede the point without the question

i’ve wandered far from the shadow where i fell
‘tween the monetised myths & wholesale burnings
& the never-ending grift beyond meaning

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2023

(and god did nothing)

in darkness he went down
in a braille of feet and saltwater sand
to the sea awayed he
from the so-called promised land

who would be torn if not he for he
for the span of what was and never would be
his tears only added to the plan
a gram worth nothing, impotent man

in silence he laid down
under veil of nori and saltwater cran
to the sea awayed he
from a post-coital life spent in remand

who would mourn if not he for he
for the span of what was and never would be
his fears only added to the plan
a gram worth nothing, impotent man

child of god
he prayed for something good and true
slave of god
swallowed instead by the reckoning blue

in parentheses he drowned
into vale of drib and saltwater dram
to the sea awayed he
from the parochial feckoning hand

who would have borne if not he for he
for the span of what was and never would be
his tears and fears added to the plan
a gram worth nothing, impotent man

child of god
he begged for something good and true
slave of god
swallowed instead by the beckoning blue

child of god
into a sea of no avail
slave of god
to the reckoning sea travailed he

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2019