Poems

by C Ra McGuirt

C Rasputin Goes Wading

for a drunkard,

the sea is only
knee-deep,

so is
death
for a poet.

Winners and Still Champions

considering they were contemporaries,
although a continent apart,
it seems to me that the actual job
of the mad monk grigorij rasputin

was to go about being
the wickedest man in the world
when aleister crowley
was sleeping,

or just didn't feel like being
the wickedest man in the world
that day.

it's too bad they never met:

they'd have made one helluva
tag team -

the wizard from the east
and the beast from the west

-vs-

all of the gods of the dead.