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| COMIC | BLOG | MANIFESTO | POETRY | FICTION | MAIN | ABOUT | |
Press my zest inside a dime
The rambling terra of a prima donna.
Her hair sways red ream to spaced spectacles wed
Capricious cavorts exalt “Yeah Yeah Yeah!”
Torn cores pour allure from each caress
Traffic crowds conclude her plastic quest
Clapping fits bottle four-four by notes.
White pigment lines in drunk violet lights
We blare brute whistles in pierced pitched panic
Little lights like death tolls come sing together
Constantly mocked inside crowds long, Her cold white
Scopious glass flash pervades
It injects PENE -- The parade.
Videos record grandstands
They Radiate stale air, at home and afraid
Morose monkey, ambulant spic of LA
Coasting companion amid youth’s decay
Metal Motels reject our thumb’s cast
Four dawns, ever aware we sway nowhere
Six Thousand wealthy baths withhold drops
Lost brotherhood, outlook of Woodstock
Scurrilously scathed pleas of “Bah Bah Bah”
Vapor streaks of red from beaming behemoths
We ramble past on a glass microcosm
Brooding buds, worlds in a dime
Forgot Him, retaining Pilgrim’s Code,
Taught, forgot and unlearned.
The mind pits the guile of the hills
Anachronistic fuels
Tidings, the clamoring victory bells
Plants holding fees
Drained to eateries like finding fire
Time better spent in statues’ dim mire
A Pilgrim’s torrent rage
Where 200 meets 400 South
I passed him, the brown wavering drunk
Beaten by a boy, young as a son
Never had I seen such fulsome beats
He could not remember and crossed me
Taken away—scrambled, staggering Buffalo.
While watching, a Spartan in plaid studying
Inquiring, I walked along, angst-driven and alone
Peradventure dwelling in a clubs’ slight light
Rattling dark hotel, mirroring himself, I quote “Turn”.
Tenaciously clutching His darts, in a brief
History of time, shines the temple
Fit for a muse, fit not for his coo
Conveniently absent, a shirt, the city square
Torn and broken stone, towers craver than him
Monolithic, commercial, frightening, beautiful, black
In umbrage the yellow, jovial rabbit jubilates stars
He, lunar, obscured by a lachrymal dove.
In darts, I remain
Tenacious, clutching a brief
History of time.
He, jittered, mid-lifed
Beautiful, black roommate in despair
“How great were they, the luckier nights”
He said with despair.
The candor spirit of Golden’s Town
Far-fetched, illimitable in doused dark mines
Lads pipe paeans to minds gone mad with more mad minds
Dancing, drumming, aflame,
Racing, beating circles, beat in rain.
Deliberate, iridescent houses
Falling to brim, their raging howl teeming mold
They know what they do, they see the same eyes of the world
They snicker, snide, are gay.
There, on Twin Peaks, the daedal plants wave
My feet leaf way upon placid piers
The hidden galleys, I watch with sunken vibes.
For the canvas painted first white and again, in white,
Lives on, will be painted by son’s sons
Shadows of demi-doves, starting guns
Four British gals with heavy well-to-do accents
Stirring jubilee, broadcasting star-gazing, close-outs on Hollywood Boulevard
Graffiti voice of the ill, annexing palm trees
Writers scraping blocks honing love as their creed
With can, brush, pen, body, annexing palm trees
Second senses like mundane apertures of voice
Among their inane smiles, their luring lips, backwash kisses the sweetest kind
Voices of hums gathering harmonic rancor
To drive, to shoot for the moon, and hit a star
Their hums breaking faults in harmonic rancor
Man I met in a shopping mall, outdoors market
“Obsession is thought. Always always always thinking about that obsession.”
A saw for the world. “She said it would be given
Like stolen water from a Grecian oven.”
She said, promised, foresaw, it would be given
Writer at AA finds self in tobacco leaves
“Give me a bad line” dialoguing man-Beasts, in frothing badlands, tromping on
Stage of dire raping, backstage with his cellphone
“try to enjoy it, jew?” “killing for a loan
And two red bags” waking us with his cellphone
The Spirit of Lost Times
Shhckm bzzzz, mmmhmmm, whirrrrrrr
Calling magicians no the black mage ones
Run run run, adventurous times
To talls towers, a monster or two
Playing playing up a hill towards a bad guy
Obviously bad you can tell
He’s not you, nor a person too
Fwisssh, zung!
Oh! Ah!
Crissh, Gwahhhhhh!
(Scream of the indecent, of the myth, of the it)
hmm…2pm – dishes need a’washin
World needs a-savin!
Twenty six hundred! Another six to go
Up swiftly the ladder of terms
Hello friends, real and un!
Shall I sacrifice here my young?
Do it now! Like generations before
Which is real and which…is…
Shit! Wait hold on
Scuttle scuttle, creeeee clunk!
Smelling up this white room like…a…
Here I am! Only seconds past
Let’s redeem the monks at last!
Twenty six hundred, a level I’m gold!
Super like the king of the ants. (queen)
Steps like crunch crunch crunch
Sword – Call it excelsior!
What have we here? A demon in my path:
Shing! (The unsheathing begins it all!)
Holy Shi-!
SWAT!
Glorious day of insurrection…
More like: Hey-! Bullshit!
Valiantly down goes directives
The sand now my only grave
The dawning sun lights my wake
But never for the lonesome warrior
But hark, here comes eine magican!
Break this Genie’s spell
Resurrection like gling, ahhh….gong!
Bright. I…
Awake!
Kkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!
All praises go to the product queen
As the ups play with immortal dreams
Like a stomach they move and gestate
Words of acid that crumble
Strength in the jungle, we
To the night and its full blue sun
She takes a bite of runic discourse
Holds the hourglass for all to see
Tales of justice, sincerity
To the marching trees with rifles propped
Comes the canon’s boom and gleam
A quartet of fallen ants
Ripped apart by electric leaves
Their singing to bemuse
The red and desolate fall
But wait¾all that nonsense
Makes no action, the stolen rights of man
To distraction, detraction
While the wandering forest we would inhabit
Blown away
by trivial habit
Like watches we trade for pride
To enslave ourselves to tyrannical hands
To enslave ourselves
Like the storms of the wounded come on too fast
And with fires gull one lets them pass
By sleeping underground
To find a buzzing song
And promised lands, of the river
See not even the form that consumes
Rather in a dream.
All on this hazed path, electric lights of the Shatki
Cry “forget me”, a screaming across the industrial plane
Harvesting pumps, beasts on four wheels
Days do I forget you as a crack in the pavement
Black marks of chewed gum, black marks like burnt rubber
Our colony may feel abandoned, not a calorie to sustain.
How absent was she there for eons
Dead to her, to myself calling forth bricks
Wayward companion, he’s far from me,
Who in my youth I would fear
Living together with Jackis, fighting abandoned streets
He finds clumps of grapefruit on the walls of tabloid hall
On we walk, my past on all sides, hers, mine, what was thrown,
What was the pinnacle of an ideal.
He follows, no one leads I go to the alabaster
The pulling back of content grapefruit juice,
The stains on my shirt, the adhesive glass of my fingertips
Poke a hole, and squeeze, it emerges from all sides.
Removable yellow prides itself on independence
A cast of the Shatki’s morphing will
How it pours from just one poke
How its membrane lies to me
Without it, it is pulp
Cordial, taps wired instructions make our Atam
Warm hearted heat rise the first epiphenomenon
Thoughtfully manipulating, conduction, all matter is malleable
Gentlemen, there is an art to putting essence into existence
Jehovah, here is your challenge, anti-matter to thine anti-christ
Nero spites envy, what love might the stars possess?
Krisham, Shakyamuni, good efforts empyrean companions
The garden convalesces the universe, we implode!
The busying Openheim more that oblivion to our Atam
They are disgusted, pray, pray for the Shatki for help!
A spark of dopamine your gift, that epic loss
Erased from you, first—erase from them!
Release! That Atam see the suffering of Openheim
Openheim white chalk in demand like eating cocaine
Cocaine, that manner of course marking the social, not the best
Oh outcast city! The sub-city neither seen or coherent
Coherence for a betrayed scene beating the best in the name of—
How can I live to see eons of my soul dissipate into ruin by credulity!
Man kills a child’s head bash for coke hash fallen sister wig
Man in his car pleading for life for kids for home shot three times in bragged adoration
Boy mouthing off. Challenged by a car, tragedy punctuated by the dry pop of a gun blast.
Man mimicking celluloid of ageless weaponry breaking, hacking
Man holed by good kids with no no motive but environment
Man in sic attacks when he was said to of risen from the dead
Recall the despondency of the race, the violence that has no cure
No alleviation except for total, uninterrupted silence.
Recall the stamping of feet, the throwing rocks, there is no demise
No right, love in chaos! Only solidarity in the comfort of death
Recall the massacres of thousands, the helpless hunted with no chance
Not a breath to spare these women, children, saved only by the cadavers they would become
There is not a word for chastity! No conceivable world without
They, the enemy, hate, vengefulness for despair!
A war where neither side desires peace, where the word itself is taboo
All dialectic way to cope, no spirit prevails but credulity.
Every child’s cry will be silenced
Samson’s triumphant retreat upon you!
Bring down the isolation chambers of this Openheim
The fomenting fire upon hall’s unconsoled depths.
The greatest welt, the greatest mark of my shame
How unjustly you embarrass me!
You that are human and alive are
Dostoyevsky’s illiterate plebians
Ivanovich’s overpowering madness of sight!
The Grand Inquisitor’s one pious deed!
For all that I’ve doe you are an embarrassment upon my past
That’s it Atam, spread your arms, warm the air around until it disintegrates all carbon men! Turn essence to existence, obliterate this great disappointment from my mind!
An easy death to you that took my advice, that fucked up and fucked off that would hurt their bond that could not be understood! A mutilating tearing of bones to you how your screams jubilate my heart, how you have brought this aged angel back to life!
At the beconing of his hand a building falls, those damned fools, anachronistic fathers who deserve not this eon of progress but dead as the rest of history—
What of that credulity of wonderment upon looking at the stars! What of salvation when the final moments come from neither side! Flushing away those dark ages of credulity to never see itself like Rome we fell to your obstinate theology, here arrives Nero. God, will you not put an end, will you not reveal yourself in this Sodom, in this Jericho of your faithful followers? They cry for your help, do you not laugh as they die? Do their sons bring shame to you as well?
Amid the battle arms, the last words of the hundred thousands. Not God, not man do wish to stop me. They deserve their ends.
For a suit! A suit!