No announcement yet.

King of Kings - a Coronavirus sequence by Michael O'Brien & Johannes S. H. Bjerg

  • Filter
  • Time
  • Show
Clear All
new posts

  • King of Kings - a Coronavirus sequence by Michael O'Brien & Johannes S. H. Bjerg

    - King of Kings -

    king of kings

    covering the island

    a wave of dust

    taking cover you dive

    into a tin of sardines

    we lose the key

    and a prisoner


    the white girls go:


    looking left and right

    gregory pockets the pencil

    what is it? a congress of feet?

    a flock? a murder?

    the raven


    and then spits

    all veins tuned

    to hum

    in D-major

    catching your breath

    a bum note

    this fear when youths

    escape their jars

    his underwear


    into her dna

    in the shrimp diaspora

    knitting is only

    for remembering


    you quarantine

    their heart

    a fortnight later

    you hear the chairs speak

    ratling with sobriety

    your chained cough

    it’s never just one

    needle in the moth

    it’s a thousand and one

    sudden death

    the loneliness

    of hayricks

    your belly button elastics

    breaks and all’s dark

    full of cheap alcohol

    the white girl’s scar

    goat shaped pill

    Morpheus suggests a game

    of musical chairs

    taking form

    you put your right leg

    into a new nothing

    Morning is a language

    hiding in the shadows

    sweeping the ants away

    your brush with dread

    not a tango

    but a struggle with furniture

    sticking to your clothes

    his hips

    remembering itself

    the sun

    during power-cuts

    eels sleep in your elbow

    funny you say

    becoming red ale

    afraid of her own feet

    and pulse she builds

    a castle of cake

    limed fingers

    baking bread

    her blood work

    ‘it’s the yeast’ she shouts

    from her horse of bubbles

    the final boy

    sowing a circle

    needle by needle

    the path grows

    in giallo stills

    falling through dreams

    his soap death


    you’re not a planet

    any more?

    asteroid belt

    the carriage falls silent

    a plague mask full

    of dandelion fluff

    clear sky

    you trip over a bottle

    of hand sanitiser

    counting unicorns

    you polish your

    jellyfish glasses

    sinking knee deep

    finding its italian

    the birch

    finger to finger trans

    mitting galaxies n flesh

    gravitational collapse

    the horse slows down

    from the moth sacrifice

    a new horizon

    full of ships

    leaving your heart

    in the aisle

    next to the shampoo

    an open window in the dog

    that carries the clouds

    covered with hair

    your ears

    in the table asana

    you long for the weight

    of cups and ashtrays

    stained walnut

    his breath cursed

    with loyalty

    not even parhelions

    at the end of your tunnel vision

    22° halo

    we turn the news off

    she emerges from sleeping

    pixels as a body

    of miasma

    screen glow

    becoming an armada

    the premature birth

    the first step taken

    on a lawn of maggots

    letting her go

    the freedom of bell jars

    now empty

    the room sweats


    visions of christ

    just in case

    he buys more toilet paper

    Via Dolorosa from your chair

    to the supermarket

    retracing footsteps

    from the front door

    Captain Moonbeam

    inspects a fly’s feet

    consulting I-Ching

    chasing a deer

    dividing the country

    we raise a flag

    stretching time we sit

    by an autistic ocean

    it’s only saltwater

    you say

    opening the big book

    of Mustard Seeds the morning

    star breaks

    field notes

    he rewrites

    his suicide

    those half finished birds

    sing only in consonants

    stuttering the wind

    and impending illness

    just enough hearing left

    to house

    a blue whale

    stoned on fat

    he licks the neighbour’s

    door handle

    a big bang of spiders

    etched on her forehead

    farming boils

    he longs for the plague

    rain of needles

    your boat is a compass

    in free fall

    on ‘r’ less birds

    spinning around

    your spit

    ‘not tea leaves, but baked beans’

    she offers to read my future

    moving into aries

    the virus

    Major Lom drops his semen

    on a white mountain’s

    centering stone

    fertility rights

    the arrival of our saviour

    on city balconies

    after the fourth week

    cracks appear in the coffee

    lunar cycles

    for the raspberry

    chipping away at a cell membrane

    just to let loose

    a destructive language

    gap year

    he spends his time

    talking to phlegm

    parking the bike

    at the far end of the wind

    first the rats

    and then his hairline

    the spell for creating bread

    now creates stones

    and flounders

    flattened by anxiety

    he changes the channel

    and his shirt

    where Morse should've been

    a chimpanzee eating ants

    after the stone age

    we pick up soup

    press it hard enough

    and the fig

    becomes electric

    cold this night

    your sneeze becoming

    carbon neutral

    the detective’s vertigo

    made worse by starlings

    closing thought:

    jimmy stewart saying crow


  • #2
    Great interweave of psyches! I have enjoyed the firing of synapses all over the place.


    • jshb
      jshb commented
      Editing a comment
      yes, it was like that. Simply writing under the impressions of the rolling pandemic and the bombardment of news ... sad news, scary news. A relief, as Michael said, from the madness.

  • #3
    A great collaboration! You both surpassed yourselves - bravo.


    • jshb
      jshb commented
      Editing a comment
      thanks a million, Clayton. Great fun and great ping-pong :-) and very satisfying too

  • #4
    Whoa! Nice work guys.
    ghost cave i brush aside the dharma of a lobster god


    • jshb
      jshb commented
      Editing a comment
      thanks, Clayton. Great fun!

  • #5
    Thanks a million for commenting everyone. It was one of my new year resolutions to collaborate a lot more this year. I had no idea how amazing the process of working with you all would be. But it has been more than amazing and I look forward to all our further collaborations. Thanks for everything - it really means a lot.


    • #6
      Exactly what I needed! Great job!!!


      • #7
        fantastic read!


        • #8
          I'm clapping!
          My website is at


          • #9
            This is really something. Although it no doubt took some crafting, this feels like a frenzied stream of consciousness - only the thoughts and reactions are from two minds!

            Probably because it's Holy Week, these verses stand out...

            visions of christ

            just in case

            he buys more toilet paper

            Via Dolorosa from your chair

            to the supermarket


            • #10
              thanks, Marion. We sorta just wrote to our hearts' delight :-)


              • #11
                That’s the best way, Johannes—sounds like fun!