Talking atrophied stars in a startled crackerjack;
where some rattled apostle bolds their demographic delusion.
& ancient knots nullify the nubile angel’s nuddigum bones –
bones, bones, bones
owns; within the strychnine machine
of laser fiends &
bloodbeat like the sins of guttercrawling vampires;
systematic spires & spittled desires
the fires of Orcalum. The dance of dead kangaroos
on the corpse of 1000 Dali’s. Doing the do.
Then a soft watch blotch on a blather of pink elephant sundowns.
In the luxordorific gowns
or frowns of Lorca
lock up your daughter, or clocks…tick-tock smock of madness
in the maelstrom of a witch’s eye. All lugubrious as Lurch
contained at the church of catatonic scorpions;
at the alter in the pewter of Trilobite turd.
This is absurd.
Absurd, absurd, absurd.
Nothing heard. Watching fire-ants cantilever in the gessivating fever
of grotched groins
tossing coins in a well of ectoplasm:
“come out, come out…wherever you are…”
Grappling with felicity like fecund wrestlers
upholding a paradox of poltergeists in full nelsons
caught in the heists of stolen onomatopoeia;
buzzing gems like wonky lightsabres – quick, save Princess Leia!
Did you see her
run away with the spoon beneath a sweaty-knuckled moon?
Sliding down the lumbar puncture picture of your spinal tap temerities
tasting the extremities of beetle-phalanxes or electrostatic Gods,
high on thrones
of rotten Hades
- loud as drunken ladies.
Ladies, ladies, ladies
quivering with rabies; ogling all oxymorons
with fuzzy logic – the grandiloquence
of somniloquence! The vizzle in the drizzle of
my dryad sex appeal. Shimmy shimmy squeal!
Only now do you blix at the blizzard of marching mutants
in their ugly vizard-gizzard
from the TV’s get quick-fix; crumbling fickle as Weetabix
can’t do nothing about this…
then shrunken into baited auxesis.
Now the clever cleaver clunks with masculine rhyme
down on the beat of the meat of the crime;
could slaughter all doggerel for dummies in the embalmed mummies’ tomb.
Or talk more poetry tough as Rambo; shoot down convicts of Crambo
cramped in some vomatose verse.
Killing clones of poor little meiosis
in the coda of osmosis; the butch cadence
& the syllable kid.
Yes it’s true
I can taste some Kevorkian clock in a nursery for nuggetheads
& genii brainchildren reciting opium-raked sonnets
in chocolate covered onyx.
Then Sudoku for skeletons – smart zombies that
eat the Rubik’s cube. Am I too lewd?
Lewd, lewd, lewd
or simply shrewd, like the shivering shaman before a shrapnel attack
from outrageous syllabic bomb saliva; the explosive
exponents of my
…then, when all this superfluity goes to shit. Poetry dusts
itself down, in a rancorous ghost town
& rides into the sunset. For a bit.
This is a tough chew! With a bit of editing I might have carried it off a wee bit more smother - especially near the end, as I almost trip myself up; but it's the rawness and the zaniness that I like...plus the fact - I really can't be arsed to re-record it! Hehe......hope you enjoy; a slice of nuttiness for fun!
we definitely need to invest in a new microphone .. mmhmmm .. the echo is a wee bit distracting, but that aside .. how the hell did you do that?! .. i would have been tripping over my tongue every third word .. you did excellently .. yep