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Poetry by Greg Braquet 

Greg is a winner of the Delirium Journal's 2003 Choice Award.  He lives in New Orleans.




© 2005 Greg Braquet



Bella Lugosi Blues


Confessing my many horrors

I, the undead, thaw


To zombie and stare down

The sun directly with a


Diseased eye caught

During the dead of moon.



No.  More like


Penance, with no chance

Of parole,


Sentenced to blindness

In my typecast paradise,


Just when my obsession

Activated existence had


Tired of blood and

Begun to calm. 






Early Bird Special



 I lay flat on my past and present, composed,

Yearning for the formality of decomposition.


My hands or appropriately folded, cradling my

future inconsistencies, fossil dreams and all.


I am satisfied my id has eaten my ego and will

Comfortably rest forever on a full stomach.


I am the early bird with no appetite waiting for

My promised worm. He is late or so I think.


Perhaps he is here, masking as translucent time

Inching closer, working up a hunger.










































All work is copyrighted property of Greg Braquet.



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