Use the jukebox to
 listen to some cool music including Winter Beach by Suchoon Mo as you browse the site

All the content of this website is © Copyright erbacce © Copyright on individual poems
remains with the authors; nothing may be reproduced without express permission.
If you download a copy of erbacce all copyright rules still apply.

02. Featuring: Anonymous!

no title

Liquid large and salty flow, that which divides it
Vast and flimsy ethereal blue, scorched white copper bronze
Division’s a dome done deal,
Dumb none but I,
I am not yet

I wait
Unborn of a silent scream
Gaped quiver ripple wrinkled flesh
Composite of structured splits
Code coded copied chimera
In high bred hybrid
  In limbo

Anthracite black awash awake
Polar pulsing plexus
Elected flexing felted frame
Burnt bolted neanderthal nuts
Mine mind mined melted deep
Blast blinded rip
In it am I

Surf cerebellum surface
Four fold folded found
Midst neural chatter
In cogito ergo sum
Processed as process
Proceed as animate
Imitate the primary version

I prefer not to mire too long
This journey’s a mediated mirror move
Thrust upon trust tread light
Still born forms aspire to entice
Wave lengths unfurled
Record intent
in deep gulps

Air as searching fluid seeps
To set a skin
Define a form
Enclosing as a winding sheet
  A shape
From which a shadow might
Eclipse the searing sun

Ingested entrails newly glow
Grow to lush in hum and hue
In hexagon held
Deep scented colour
Swells vascular drains
Rejuvenate cosmic nod

A solid six, faced to the sun
For unified maximised effect
Tangential tangle in rooted ness
Seed soup shoring home
Wrought icons of the future
Allowing solstice rise
In stilly spheres

Orb of orbital reasoning
Spins thought strands and weaves
A fabrication floss as mist
To cloak the spectre
And muffle dissent
Such is the construct
Perceived as beauty

Grey flecked pink flecked white, cast shadows of players
Who speak with their hands, stroke the construct
Invoke green man to regeneration
Read multiplication
That’s it

No questions
No answers
Soak silence
In oily scum
Rainbow on water
And the scales
Of dead fish


the regulars rent me for seven hours
a day. suzanne finally fucked me. she
was terrible in bed. she said she loved
me and wanted to eat chicken with rice
all during the sex. when i stuck it in her
mouth it was the worst thing i could have
ever done. she even wiped it off with her
pants. she made a scene leaving but she still
comes into the restaurant talking on the
phone and drinking vodka tonics saying hi
and pretending not to be looking at me.

After the Baby Funeral

“I’ve got all the time in the world”
–Mark Sandman, “Radar,” Morphine’s 1995 CD “Yes”

“I don’t care how dead he is, he’s the sexiest man alive”
–overheard in a record shop (referring to Mark Sandman)

It was juice, jazz, joss, jissm we called
on for comfort (gospel of response/recall)
after the little white box

we couldn’t and couldn’t not
look at in the church
was lowered into dirt for the leaching of its linen

Dead babies play at the feet of Jesus
or so the preacher oiled us, but
dead boys played on the stereo

rock-hard while we cooked and fucked
as if we needed meat to replenish the flesh the savage
god exacted


A leaking gas pipe and the front of a modest
terraced home collapsed exposing the interior
of a private space to the world and I, for one,
could not stop looking.
In the living room hung a seascape painted by
an artistic uncle the sea looked frozen and
large waves appeared as snowdrifts. Yet
the painting was overshadowed by light brown
wallpaper with huge sunflowers on.
The same paper was used in the two bedrooms
too except in the bathroom that had yellow
ducks on pink background.
Passers by averted their stare truth can be so
intrusive we don’t really like to know that
much about other people (except their sex life)
workmen came and covered the damage with
tarpaulin, it was my house and I had lost my
last illusion but took comfort in the fact that
it was my wife that had chosen the wallpaper
in the bathroom.