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Shankulation – The Screamery of Angry Poetry


Shankanalia 2

Some of my friends tell me I have anger management issues. After withdrawing the knife I remind them that I manage my anger very well. That’s what poetry is for surely, the expression of emotion using whatever words and noises we can, even if they are just an incoherent shriek.

I strive to rise above the mere bellow and twist the words into an appealing form (to me). It’s important that I don’t dwell for too long on whatever has enraged me (you know who you are), so this short form is great. It spurts out, and the suppurating wound left behind may eventually heal.

Follow @shankanalia on Twitter for live screaming.

Shankulation – The Screamery of Angry Poetry

The Underside
Occiferous tribblings emanate
From my desken drawer
And unhued exhalations
Of ghostly breath
Chill my ice spine.

All The Answers Are Inside
Fuck burgers
And lung pestilence
To silence your gasping,
and failing
Search for the truth.
The words you need can be carved in your wrist.

The Hands That Tie
Can I amputate your leg
and gag you with its meat?
Appendage bondage.
Bind your hands with
A chain of toes
and blind you
With your penis?
For my pleasure.

Convenience Sore
Cut you open,
Stitch you up.
Squeeze your gash,
Your suppurating wound
Heal you with a fistula
So I can punch you
In your bloody heart.

Ah you simpering fuck-peddalos,
Cycling futiley through muddening filth,
Buried to your mutant-infested
Spasming genitals:
Fire your dead seed.

The Cycle of Shame
Blazing a trail
Of embarrassing banality,
Outstretched arms
Reaching for t

he earth.
With ambition like yours
We’ll have another wheel
In no time.

Cause for Celebration
Thanks for that;
For all your work
Your thoughts
Have been received.
It’s clear your work
And thoughts
Have been the problem.
Please leave. Ta.

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