the maxim of aborescent dislocations;
an extravagance of locust banquets
- laburnum in the mouth of a desperate Aphrodite...
You slept away a lifetime.
Comatose lullabies cryogenically frozen
under telekinetic eyelids,
wondering when would be the right time
to while away this...
squeal in my frying pan
the sizzle of my reflected sins
still contained in the juice of my indolence…
I’ll gorge myself, selfishly
with another once-living creature.
But this…this is normal…
in the Land of Hate & Shadows
snorting razorbacks with a...
held in the eye of a macula brick
diseased with the blowfly revolution
in the scrawl of black holes
& the endless monomania
of a slattern godless race…
in the dark towers of Priapism
In the eye of midnight
There can be no reprieve
Bright lights beat beyond
The dead weight of shadows,
Where suicide angels scream shut their eyes;
Wail their Godhead cacophonies
And dark messiah prophecies
As they nosedive from tall tower blocks
Crack the egg of these porcelain eyes
Static life, static night.
Watch the soul mirage, the eyes flicker
the ghost of my skin
fits within, the doppelganger drone
the family of clones.
Each one smug with duplicity
Blockhead faces stare into empty glass.
An aquarium full of dead fish flaps
to the orb of a wrecked eye. No water. As though
a mini-ocean just sucks down a sinkhole
to a landslide for sloppy shrimps, or
bloated crabs crushed to a pincer-clasp…of useless survival,...
"A clown is funny in the circus ring, but what would be
the normal reaction to opening a door at midnight and finding
the same clown standing there in moonlight"
LON CHANEY SR.
There are white faces in the dark.
With greasy teeth they laugh out loud,
Rolling scattershot eyeballs like...
For at night – I can hear you
Chugging, crunching on the bones of tracks:
Such a sweet shunt of madness!
Thudding like a psycho-train; menacing
With your unfurled engine exhorting its demon-fires
With all the force of ballista – coming at me
Hurling your steaming weight at my vapid...
The sun sickles the earth.
Where his stillness poses a masquerade
Amongst the firebrand clearing, illuminating
Monsters of the dusk. Crude figures with manglewurzel heads
Each pumpkin gone putrid
A Priapus with a perverted face. Part
Of some bucolic fable -
The farmer’s tale: “beware...
4am. Dirty & desperate as a clientless whore.
Fugged up window with the evil breath that pervades my senses -
Stood like Frankenstein’s shadow
watching early sun too crippled to rise, staining the sky
like some bleeding yolk
When the wolves cast lupine eyes, it was quiet
Amidst an iron market deluge; some rain fest
Where a delegation of wolverines moved
No one made a sound,
I was fear riddled
I could sense their blood-lust increase tenfold,
Become the scourge of wild...
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