Primord elongus mute zone. Blue, blink,. Torn that at, box In box, vanilla.
In visions of gold
And back to the tiger again, he-father, she-mother. Cold, but dots a splash of life in shadows,
In between the blue pearls of dead
Sweet joy of the savage
Sweet joy of the rotten and decanted, the.
In very occlude precision
Faint flames of the yore
Busses of ghosts and cunts
Marching on, forgive the hell
And shades and shapes of the black lizards
Just a few clichéd terms
And the moon will be hours
Yes, o yes I speak of the carnival joy
Conniving honey-scented bees bedamned
Sway, little doll
Sway a while by
But where’s the sharp bite and, fuck!
All the demented and doomed
Stare out from the café
Something I won’t conjure up
And yet be close the doors and befuck with the light!
Onno this discord and mutiny inside
Flesh sugar grab moonlight starsong
To keep the buzzing fleas off burning red flesh
That fire, is , jubilation
Within corpus juris corpus christi corpus luteum
Feels the joy in whistling them away
And letting be what would not be
Oars and the camerashoes
How we take
In dacoitsong go back,
regress, inside brain, neurons, cells that spark
Conscious of self as a soul/sole
Tumble me down
To severe ugly darks
And so children gather around the wise old mask
And hear about the body and death.
That’s the valley
Of wrathful rivers
Rivers reverse the rehearse off my stage you mothrfucjer!
Off my stage I say, Oedipal in delight of the own
I say and I rise
Like snake jutting up to kiss the light
That’s light of cold pale places, freeze-up, a while
Of me getting a hunchback
O know. Who has condemned! Or am I a puppet too?
The question made me push the blanks
That I feared and now I won’t
Damn, it shrinks
Seems like glue piling up
And gather sad effects of entirety through reflective decoders,
And that’s how the silver gathers strength in another
Gush of the avalanche
Let’s just see what happens! Push the bits up for a while, and conditioning of all, fuckgrey silhouettes
Maybe that’s the conditioned lust
Of the petrified ones to switch off before the staircase and shiver down below
You think the thin one floating, the thin ones floating outline Genie,
Is a huge balloon by the gooey beach.
Observation: titty fucking is good.
Back to the light for a while please\essential functions are being conducted/in lips and flowering hip
Yes yes flow of the distant synthesis.
It’s like when I stare, like a huge sad goat
Beyond horizons, I get nasty things I’ trying my best to push in the light
of pavements from bellow-gutters and labyrinth.
That’s the way I still think of the primal city of instincts
O hateful reckoning, take me in, rescue me, I’ll find protection on my own, fuck off, junipers,
Now you know why
I lash out loud electric, throbbing and sharp
Pushing through circles
Damn. No more blasted fake glues!
Blots blotted, lionman! Paranoia. Awakening
Ancient tribal domes
One hurt mother. And silent, awhile
And bleeding to
One emotional sparrowsong
Now again phoenix withers away through substitution
One step lordbound, up
Now slanted, reject
Poetry is the greatest trick of godhood, to wrap up hot with the cold.
Tasks again. O whatthehellheehee!
That’s how fake your wax can be,
Bitter wormed candy, all in pink and white
Nah, starts coming again
The happy attack
To the second loop
The extra step.
Stuck in muck
:’( alas! this depletion of resources. L
Nomore the world of jewels, this hazy sweetness
Glimmer shimmer object conception of animals of elephants
Infallible, the numbing blue once again
Blur off, faint dream in mother vision reality
Of advertisements and resumes
Choke it off
Serve it. Done. Rain in valley of eerie
by day, vomiting soldiers in damned pain
Mauve passes through, as dwarfed magenta agent
Hero of the headless ones as the wheelspeak seeps through
Sleepwalking by broken factories. Statues. Swirls and moves back.
Just these joyrides in the discreet valley.
Barring our path
Through own frames
Through own mirrors.
Attrition rates high.
Dostoevsky would’ve nodded right here.
It’s alive, lady wisdom
Slender lady torpor
Oink oink Cinderella shut
Naked foliage brutal stationary jets gods big stand still hush judge
And then, before you know, dead.
Things should’ve been better,
And far more pure.
Mother, I weep like a spider dangling sown the skies stuck in faint green hue
Mostly grey and platinum, just the way our great Oracle had wanted it to be. Incomplete, incognito,
ebaar tomaaye khaabley khoobley khabo.
Now, to disintegrate
Into tiny dots of time.
Our nights and noons that made us laugh
In sweet cocoon
Of polka dot
I’ll think of that instead
Lips pressing, tongues tangled
My palm and your waist
Lighting those little sparks, that show some light not much light
Of ancient trees ahead, crawling, insect, angry doll, farlost tribe
I was to be one of these
But for simulation.
As I trudge through these stormy deserts
I will think of light and shadow making eerie magic on the walls instead.
I won’t think of the sadness of sands.
I will be grave and won
Knife. Smirk. True love in big strong beautiful majestic sky. Suckaboobie!
Whatever remains of me
can still hold on to the knife
I gave most of all
You gave all you could. It was a sad departure.
Rained. I was at the carnival. And yet I was staring up for moving dots,
Like the ones that come out of wings of pretty little fairies of bonsai-sex imposed-soft magnet-machine. I was looking up and the carnival couldn’t impress me as much as it should ideally have.
I walked back home. And I slept in throbbing sting.
Basking. Spilled and stuck.
Sweet nausea sweaty mound
Yogi gave a wisdom tree
Flowers, white sparkle sun holiday in gloss
To cover the gaps that might fume one day
Many beneath this lying haze waiting. Frozen to the still rack of memory
They’ll be a thousand, incubating.
Pictures adjust blue-doored white-walled platitude,
Decoding our way through this valley
Tiger you sarcastic etcetera morally bored crocodiles and gods. Colours are essential to comprehend. Real dove flies,
That sharp joiner.
Bright and durable, painless
From myth-man I carve this day, from mother I start to unlearn.
Welcomed by graceful motions of simpler geometry,
like clouds that make the world sadder than three million dead rats,
I play my sad sundown.
Didn’t go down
Focused on roots going down
Before electric corpses beyond delight
to the doleful dirge
Oysters hatch sweet corn of love.