Lionballs

Stare on, guru,

through potface television sets that preach of being and shit

and burping radios waiting to be struck to endless silence

it’s all useless anyway

do whatever,

stare at me staring at the great blank rainbow beyond

pretty girls and their stockings that roll up to perfect asses  

and stare at my dreary solitude talking to me,

tending to me, giving me food and love

when nothing or no one else does

do whatever,

I’m not carrying this somber tapestry with me wherever I go   

and i’m not gunning the moon down until I find it necessary to.

…

Damned skeletons, won’t they beg for mercy?

Strong tall elevations for people to speak from

Rotten stupid people unaware of their rot and stupidity,

Disgorging,

Expunging,

Parroting one another

Eating in cold places,

Drinking in soft places

Fornicating in mindless fuck

Needing their toys, high places and absurd conflicts

Needing their fake prophets, their illusory maps

And other similar shit

And they won’t ask about the iron and puppets anymore

This waste is shameful.

And the damned skeletons will take on new shines and roll down

the bitter naked roads without complaining.   

…

A dry old man at a moonshine joint had once told me that it’s all shit

He must’ve got it pretty tight

I was busy shaking mosquitoes off my hairy legs

And stuff in general were caving in like they always do.

…

Those damn pillars shooting up from the burning deeps to hold the sky

can’t keep it from rotting

trains sprint through storms

snakes and worms crawl to the fond core

demons boom laughter at pale places of oblivion

a half of this craze goes to all of these

and the rest half to the stupendous inanity.

….

It’s just the thick white cloud pleasing the throbs

And that’s pretty much it

The rest is all about bluebirds sending doodles to pink baboons.

…

Thunderbolts roll down channels like massive cannonshots that jolt us to dread

and words and spaces trying to wrap up thoughts

and codes blocking the grand highways of pure laughter

and heavy gods sharing wisdom with the heavy judges

and red-eyed shocks of heavenly destruction that tremble the sundown

and the lonely and the lost and the bizarre stuffed in moral guiltshit cages: they’re

mad as hell and they’re roaring at this disgrace and defeat as those swarms of asinine assholes out there celebrate attainment, the rising and other false notions of security.

People are so weak that they can’t think beyond pacts, resolutions, contracts and acceptance

and I’m bored.

…

A flower with guts

by tramways

revolting against sunshine

through the film of piss

gives a bit

a petticoat

with dark sweet memories

hanging down sad ropes

of lost mansions

takes it all away.

…

In the beginning there was the cunt and the cock

And fires were lit and funs were funned

And rains were rained and pushes were pushed

Then came boredom,

And then came the decay

And things are pretty much stuck now

The fires are dimming out

And the rain is drying up

And when it’ll all get knocked cold by this growing monotony

A sneezing clown and a fleshless whore

will be all that’s be left of these.

….

Dotting the i-s

Sitting by the brilliant riverside muck

Strange talks of the strangely damned

Stubborn temples flashing tiny kindness

Silence screaming out from cold ancient forests

Folks pressed to vapid darks

Children lost in stone-eyed wombs

Forms dissolving without notice

Ghosts leading the way to stations

Kingmen seeking submission through steely fright

Monstrous buses bending in terrible orderly motion

The poison goes beyond the realms of rain

And too deep for any damn pain

…

The last man left on earth will need beer

And the last woman, sanity

The last man will miss being hated and the last woman being loved

The last fish left on earth will be as coldly dumb as all the other ones

I’ve walked a long way today through empty trees by empty roads

Fishes sleep, cocooned by tender watery love

…

Clocks squeezing heartpulp like raging palms on bloodsmudge cherry ass

0s and 1s circling each other to create makebelieve roads and bridges

Fake whores of fake brothels of fake towns tie us to fake fleshes

All we are forced to see and do is there to hide the ancient fires

that haunt us in vague recollections of dreams and awakening

armors to resist the chromosomes

to thump them to capitulation

to keep stuff from falling through because falling won’t suit much purpose

there’s a lake and there’s no map to that

the real roads and bridges have been burned

long ago

and now, for this wait,

in despair

for the gruesome payback

as clockhands clamp the heart tied to blinding flashes of falsity.

…

Tongue searching for the furthest treasures sphincter like soul searches for essential eternity

Profound breasts and asscheeks weighing the world in fleshly weight

Sweat oozing out of human pores like ants from a kicked mound

Things grow stale inside polytone polychrome packages

To see through this ploy is to know the glory of purest insanity

It’s raining in the Milky Way

Camels of dogged love trudge through this festivity searching for the roots

Tongue searches for furthest treasures sphincter

Soul searches for essential eternity.

…

Solitude like madhouse Madrigals eating core out and soon it’s all hollow in daze

Just a circle and me standing inside

This constant fadeout of ringside faces like a train dotting away in fog beats down like frozen rain on rundown factories

Cat leaps on broken glass

Sun leaps on moon

Love leaps on hatred

It’s all getting darker

It’s all a tragedy of fools.

The bull’s there to charge at guts with the raging wisdom of gods

And I’m here thinking of flowers that wilt in sadness so great that the world’s silence drips down bust beercans and somberly throbbing citadels.

These are the lonely times when I make love to those Muses of intense dreams with sincere grotesque curves and fire from hell in their meat   

It’s all bullshit and I know that.

Get lost, fucker

I’ve sold the rulebook

But I’m not selling this resilience

…

Little lost child,

When you grow up and grow strong enough to conquer this splendid kingdom,

promise me that you’ll let me dig up all its hidden treasures.

Or else I won’t show you how to cross the river

And I won’t tell you where the chipmunk ghosts go when it rains past midnight.

…

Locomotive-beat toil

Rugged harmony, greased machine-ass

Piper stops to piss

Snake stops to fix aim

soft tissues shredded by iron wolf-teeth

sturdy tissues holding fort

Head heading for Valhalla

Harpies heading for Heart

Much fun preparing for false victory

in the real battlefield

till we get to know of the void

and understand that we’ve been fucked for good.

And then we rise to kill.

…

The undoing of shit

is for the grand ones who don’t exist

Fools search for the purified essence of conditions

and die in misery of mortification and loveless pestilence

like the rest of us –

mortgaging affirmations,

whoring out freedom,

dangling situations and blatant genitalia

The best one can do is take this silent night

and hump it with regal brutality.

…