Pink flesh
sticking to my heart of iron balls
Pink flesh
sundown, pink flesh extermination pink flesh abject in the blinking bizarre
Pink flesh
of the purge, cold minds choked souls, my friend, my single eternity
As hours
leap on seconds, pink flesh leaps on the clock
It’ll all fight
for me, and I stay the huge sad slow sticky mass
staring
into that convoluted twilight
…
Snakepuke
on the moon
I left my
spring behind on the mountains I guess I’m not sure
Snakepuke
on the moon
I sing to
you
Your teeth
are nice and shiny
Give love
Give
Give
From room,
ants gather
round dried cum on bedsheet
goblins
around my head
sad joker
of dreams
masculine
motions, tiger-sturdy zones
silent
Buddha zones
decadent
zones
resurrected
shit
from room
again,
view fades,
blink blank blur blear
splendid
legs, splendid ass, moonlit desert,
highway
shoulderblades spiral mist
spinal gaze
the house
of Atreus
blah.
Spots a
little yellow in the red
I feel like
a little girl, lost.
….
Nudecat,
walk the alleys fight the hours down
Splendid
nudecat in perfect guile
As
inamorata shines down trashcans
And silver
sings in perfect hue
Soft iron
wings, launch Icarus
Citrus
punch, decay punch
Limelight
in the warring furs
Tolerate
me, tolerate the dying and the long dead
Nudecat,
nudecat, I’ll die one day
Punch the
tremors down
In pristine
puissance ah
World wraps
in soft cocoon
Nudecat
works way
through the
lightpulp core.
…
Citylight
moving backbound shoving down the ass of doom
Winding
empires modern songs oh the champ how he goes look
There’s a
temple in my head
It’s very
dark and all its priests are dead
Falter by
the altar, baby bird
It won’t
rain for a thousand years
The big
tragedy of the world
The big
love of the world
Excreting
angel-shit, excreting angel-love
Dig through
the cave will must dig deep
Till you’re
bored and dead
Citylight
marching forth again,
Smokey
cockroach-limbs, million oars to draw
Closer to
that goddess of appalling rage
Who puts
your soul in a cage
Who drags
you down to her flesh
Blue boats
on frozen lakes
Whatever it
takes, fucker,
Whatever
hell it takes.
….
Cindy windy
tinkling tone
Where be
thou
When the
wind begone?
…
Before
jumping out of this
Before
dangling dick civilia cocophany cockophany
Men usually
seek sustenance from women
Don’t know
the story
Don’t know
the compass sneer
Little
registers of purity and urge
Fresh love
fresh shit makes the mind happy aglow summerbum winter’s broken lute heart’s
broken spine
Barbaric
ecstasy comes easy, beer comes cheep or they ideally should
Like
Olympian heroes greasing the guts of this brutish thump
Tales of
love sex and rape, tales of hatred and cauliflowers
One
picture, big picture, upside down
I get the
cogs I get the wheels
I get the
postcards with naked flowers and naked women
Moderation
by assholes democracy by piranhas Thanatos by the great white swan and the
great black knife. lonely cow, big tits. Bad weather, pink umbrella.
…
One fine
morning I walked into limbo
Where I met
this boobey bimbo
whom I knew
I had to screw
So I did
her tight and I did her through
But the
nasty wolves that guard that zone
Pounced on
me when I was alone
I ran for
my life and I ran so fast
that the
heart went down and the balls went bust
And now I’m
here bloodfuckdamn!
They broke
my walls so yours I spam
as I stand
on this weary road
reeling under
motherload
But I’ll go
there again for further fun
This time ‘round
with a machine gun.
I’ll be
strong and I’ll be tall
I’ll kill
them one and I’ll kill them all.
….
I wouldn’t
wipe my ass with poetry
And yet
everything
just keeps
on getting darker
it’s like
from inside this dank cave or cathedral or heroon
i hinge my
thoughts on your mind’s thighs
the mind’s
cold and gray, like all sacred places of religion and death
the heart’s
big sad child, suffering from unwanted gigantism
the body’s
in decay, wrapped in civilizing marks
sadness
never thumps like a torpedo
it rambles
down slowly like a cloudy mountain so huge that no one’s ever seen one like
that before
it’s
sundown in this world of herons and Neptune-kisses
little
electric dots ditty the world in plural haze
roots the
sun the moon and miners go down
…
Once again,
back to the tiger
Mind in
white glow
Death Mama
of richest flesh
Death Mama
of silver gleam
Death Mama
of honeyed sweat
Death Mama
of the real pure
Death Mama
with the snake
Hooding up
from her navel
Silk body
milk-meat through climes of strange paradise
The dark
tender succor and a tiny red flint deep down below
which the
world of splendid Angels with revolves around
I see them.
Tiny rickshaws with wings, balloons of the heart,
Senile
trams coughing primal shiver, houses and little monsters
Shops and
the honeybees,
Sliding
down into the speck
As rain
turns dust into mud
Death Mama,
with curves of the Universe
Kiss me
into that hazy benign forgetting of blood and tissues.
…
Decay of
puppets, as the Jokers say,
is good for
the harmony of senses
Counterfeit
membranes pill up, covering the deep boom throb
Simplify
the terms
Kill the
whores
Keep their
children
And let the
big thing lie
like a
whale, trembling raw
on a great
white shore.
The idea is
always to endure
Else we
lose all fun.
…
Write to me
Send me a
picture of love
Remember
the drowning tigers
And their
shadows finding us
Naked like
the flesh
Steel
blades sparkling like Gothic foreboding
My castle
by the roof
Howls over
the ancient sea
Barbeque
appositions
Is the
minstrel beastly dead?
Did Homer
roar in the pines or was it Whitman?
or were
both of them inside that ghastly ancience
as masters
say?
Pull the
car over
see your
naked mind brisling in sunshine
to be the
bull in massive fury of your dreamy nightmares
and stay
within that eternity for never.
…
Don’t kill
the freedom, boys
There’s no
poetry without that.
Don’t kill
the fun, boys
There’s
bloody nothing without that.
….
Lion’s roar the moon’s a whore the world’s a bore I sail
ashore
Roses are red the heart is dead tailor-made like I said
Lighting struck the fuzzyduck that quacked you luck from the
muck
Pigeons coo, the love is blue, it’s all true and I am
through.
…
Bent,
slithering along the cold rough surface
Little
glowing tricklettes of shiny arctic red
The rules
have changed and there’s none to hate or love
Tacit empires
nekton buffs placid shapes
Frozen gods
of gold and love
Frozen spirals
coiling out
from the
vulva of love
Blue wines
for Egyptian princesses
The bizarre
droning of binary
sits tight
on frontal lobe
like the
oldest bird that knows it all, and says nothing,
and stares
pressing
the fond cells down in electra storm
storming
fortresses of the terribly doomed antique
forests
burn in cold sonata
and those
icy sheets covering heart and mind
but the
soul is older than this.
And pured
to that static neutral extreme.
The soul
sings aloud from great white peaks of severe glory
…
Weep for
what is lost and will never be
Weep for
the honey and sting, weep for the rundown cars for the faceless bells weep for
the gods weep for the coolly dead ponies weep for this blank living and that
still dying.
Weep for
the mother and her flesh
The Sybil has
been banished, the clocks have been busted, Arthur and his knights have been
sitting there forever,
Buses run
slow in mourning and cats kill themselves over mice
There’s a
great blob of sorrow spinning around, spitting sadness all over our faces as we
live eat fuck and shit. Weep for the stoned gods of silence, weep for
their silence, weep for this inevitability weep for that thirst, weep for the
bridges on fire and for the Sphinx, weep for what was once the spectral
wholesome holy in the far shadow of this mind in rot as the great Emperor of madness
and laughter fades away weary sun slumps down flowers wilt and birds return to
tender doleful nests.
…
the conspiracy
of these maroon hours
stuff and
matter and form dancing with things that shine and things that don’t
lost ones
gather in the alley
and march
to the hidden valley
to form an
army and mangle the balls of time
and when it’s
all over
the
squirrel lies beastly flattened by the world’s weight with guts and blood
splattered in a ferocious silent mass on the smooth avenue of love
Let us ride
down it before that happens.
Let us make
dark love in the primal backwoods.
Let us rise
to brutal bigness.
…
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