Immigrant songs extended my family. We smile as people ask people about our homeland. We smile as we become, therein and thereby, ever more private, ever more in-situ. We despise robot determinists and their version of polity; with its endless invasions on TV. We emit low howls as we reluctantly view. Vacuity is their paradigm-shift. We degenerate in opposition, relentlessly.
I have been re-arranged.
That is things are not what they were.
My futures have solidified into robust fantasy.
Sh e Knows
But what can I say when traffic pours a poison onto my empty streets. The sodium of dusk chills the evergreen, fills the night with a pause for thought but thoughts are vacant philosophy.
Now you got me interested
and got me integrated...into your mind.
You are so hard to find,
I am lost...lost inside your mind.
Your figure is a finely sculpted bust...
Your eyes are covered in gray dust...
...Your body has fallen to rust, mold and things that rot inside of you...
The chains that bond our crusted veins,
and bottle our busted brains.
the maggots inside you.
That buzzing of flies,
yes the flies come out when it rains,
flies that cover our sighs.
You got me so integrated... when you leave...
i want to drown in your ocean and feel your sapid salt drip from my tongue. i want to feel the blunt geometry of your hips rise against me like a tide. to trace the marbled carriageway of your thighs with fingertips that flutter like moths across the hungry swell of your vulva. to lay face down at the altar of your being and breathe in that intoxicating scent. to feel the stubborn mystery of your belly as hands steal over your undulating camber, desperate to devour the hard swelling yet softly yielding fullness of your breast.
lips brush lips. petal soft and blushing pink.
my tongue a traveler in the rebus of you.
i want to trace the echo of your spine and draw electric circles on the soft down at the nape of your neck and follow the bump and dip of your back with shallow bites and kisses down to the cushioned pillow that softens the point of your hips. i want to press my mouth to you perineum. between anus and vagina. listen to your sighs. watch you shudder. legs part to the push from my knee. my hand grips your moist desire and i lift you up to me. a peach impaled. a fruit that weeps its wanting. your hands claw the sheets carving crazy patterns in the linen. your head drops and rises to the rhythm of my thrusts.
you grunt in time to the rhythm. low animal sounds.
my maleness a provocateur in the fervor of you.
and after, when ardor has grown and flown like the explosive beat of nightingales wings bursting from the womb of venus and we lay extinguished like super novas grown cold. like stars that have burnt incandescently bright and now spin in a limpid orbit. captive to tangled limbs. coated in a gloss of sweet sweat. in the battleground wreckage that is the disheveled ruin of our bed. and after, when passion is spent and mirrored by our flacid flesh. our hands explore. the muscle in my jaw. the fine delineation of your cheek. our nipples now soft. your hair a confusion of wanton pleasure. your hair that hangs heavy and black and redolent with jasmine.
we smile. smug, self satisfied grins.
I do civilize:
so when this becomes a dress, we do unleash the temper
private property scam
sleepy malicious animal
you really got me piss on the fact you’re still standing the plundered pain in front of my thorny door pissing blood
makes me sad drinking the new cell shaded by all the expelled threshold emotions kept away of flight bulb constitutions
delay of smiles makes me puke inside the farted comfort you have established because of my wires
becoming the killer saint
become the queen
as in once though while becomes south hampton maggot shoe gaze as figures spreading legs
there’s trouble tomorrow
take what you want!
i dry son as soonest the sun becomes my skin of lust
looking at venus
not yet, but we belong to broken bones
i’m down by the sand cluttered smiles of frowns
do we depend in rage of mothers pain of love
i die in front of your bed drying my tears of yielded grand wizards bowels
can the hut be ours
i crave sentimental through the architecture of noise spilling the touch of miss poroese
she encountered my flavor as centrifugal orientation matters of ooze changing times in between thy arms
ma fleur -(simply part of my heart)
did we -
there’s a brick, will I ever attach to the head
think as little pink places coaled water perils brush stellar constellations
dwelling the touch of skins being of no fooling as only them become realm bypassing the second part
again as rendered emotions scare the minute
they depend on focus through eclectic narrow halls as smack
vein in trusted big paradise cream whip speaker switch becomes her pants
shipping flares beyond wind blise statt klise
now telling the testimonial becomes a strawberry panic - rumbles beyond furniture of trust
welcome fact of inspirations, I spill my life to your floor of fruit attacks!
decay becomes engaged with peaks of mountains dripping of lust for ike too fly
so much of lester’ed times I can’t tell, but now of none it appraise of how much I can fulfill the you
i want to absorb the mentioned tenderness of your skirt
melanche&olives trusted performers hide deep inside
hollow hurts béton, spoils laquer as he nails their teeth to thighs
she loves she smiles I cry why must I he thinks about herself
but else the lightening is anthological mentionable notice of white leather pockets patched as signs displaying force to their knees of fortune
in a state of beyond he would travel by pleasures of wheels trending purses being slaughtered as symbols
when again did the time rise as he fell perhaps the tide was ready to come
wall wall fly call by read as 30’s_bpm to find the 50’s coin hearted flavor on duty to finally meet as the commerce drooled name
as I can quote my beloved insantiy
‘bricks of thunder, I love and smile beyond walls’
i will let you fall apart
it’s only blank
bullet shooting brush is aware of time
else lost of wicked mercy threads
I am no will of being
decry the color
i spent only a part of time in seconds
mom taught me metal smiles through locked doors
when I spelled the name of my god times were gone as her careless hair was tied to my back of lies
bored of word passing introspection it’s backseat slapped the beat to my cuts across by grill
sensed razors slammed the chin of infinite thresholds passing ball pen eyes as fear of now
if she looked the walls curled to fault emotion tempers of hated scents tearing the vain to floor
becoming the unbecoming of sorrow’s comedy repeatedly spending voices on choir spasms
slumber my walk through science days of trusted tears wearing belts on fire
other buttons tied notion to the bang of heads spilling chars upon my eyes
trees expelled vomit
since when less
the sticky became flies far degree
confirmed dried lips
pies plunge the spoil
depressions m a tt er
the stars away, you drifted
like you never drifted before
dreaming of another season
with a chill that made the skeletons
Your fine but it's only the wine
that's got you bobbed in a waste of your own
a place of your own, much like the mind
inside of you, you got a nerve
that resins black in your eye's,
knee's blacken from swaying..
swaying in the dirt.
You drink the wine and climb the vine
inside your head, the many paths connecting
giving you sighs from another's lies,
the parallels that got you swirled
up in a bin, pressing empathy into
You climb the vine to where you dine
Everything in front of you
is the painting on the wall so perfectly
fitting for you a room of your own,
a place that makes the skeletons
Behind them lies the truth
Tonight you weave a twisted melody
Yet tomorrow you will dance in daylight,
Proclaiming some inane fable for others to despise.
Such fanciful ramblings, my sweet,
Whores love stained glass windows.
And so too do demons love to be bitter
And so too do children love to chatter.
I put my hand through a wavering mirror and
In the explosion of glass and blood,
I found a serpent of smoke.
This is screaming.
the ones who washed the back of st. peter on a boiling heater,
coasted in a coat of wet paint
while defiling a saint
chose to pick many horsed throats instead of one.
finalized the chess game in a duel,
now play the mule
Come on Press The Button.
Press the Button.
While we still got time to waste.
Is discharge Dada? No, it is not. Influenced by and with a similar attitude to, but not Dada..
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- ▼ April (78)