Tuesday, September 18, 2012

petallion

sweet mustard rain. i smell your heel. you trill and frill. on saturday frocks. and the coquette dance of petals.

the dresser of heads. your finger prick. and garlic breath. picket and deal. the song to heal. the lioness of maladies.

reaper dove. unfurl your curl. and swing your arms. riot or dance. riot and dance. to the cause of cross.

cross of wombs. cross of shells. cross of the lust of taper vapor. twiddling thumbs on matisse. epoch and knock. hey beer beard. your belly swell. you died of death.

lover on the troll. park your car. and glaze the globe. with methadone drug. drug of poison. you said, right? the honey of apartheid befell.

periwinkle crown. fashion your breast. with the local gin. with poetry of sand. and verses of ice. fragile in crumbs. molten in wax. your temporariness remains.

chaser queen. do you not wear? or cry of disappointment. of an esoteric dream. humanity and man-ity. what man came? and whipped your ass. whipped your flesh. realize. there are wild takers.

party man. you read the times. check the clock. tick tick pock. and stop when you bloom. release the wings. of butterfly stains. nimble soft.

learn to cry. release the pain. in front of man. in front of front. behind they lay. on your bed and on your palm. drop of drops. flood the floor. stain the world. your loss is pain. express your hurt. your fear of lone. alone and drink. power of the brittle stars. finger lust. on dandelions. on battle grounds of dream machines. churn the sole of scarlet boombox playing wind songs from the ocean. ocean blues and bluegrass lemon. sour and caustic. the life we dive. vortex pricks. climb the wall of rings.


Monday, September 3, 2012

colorbook II


i am. the disoriented wire boat. the crumple of a mannequin boot. with a styro-foam heart. a paper tongue. a gelatin limb. floppy and prosaic. a neon carousel that spins and spins. like charcoal waves on wax. and pastel smoke from skin. i can see the tone. the hue of yellow sweat. let us begin with the description of the bizarre necrophiles. for when they war-ed and swore to guns. this is for you, waterland. this is for you, belly pearl of gin. this is for you, mademoiselle lust. you took the cloth. anchored your soul. and charged at a pedestal of recycling marble. re-cycle. cycle, re? again? how many times is enough? how many times does re-peat, jingle a chance? not one, not two, not a million dew stave notes. harmonizing in the orchestrated boiler tops. think of the harmony. a vegan avenue of the chaste notability. and vocal fallibility stringing in the name of pleasure giving puppetry. the time you pause and resonate the chip of the vaudeville rush. the adrenaline whore. the lay, dismembered barber who snips a dime. and labyrinthine, in the canvas of the painter, burns a kiss. a town house kiss. the outline of velvet machination. the dynamics of musculature. if god or time, created man. what need we say, the lips needed symmetry. a shape of thin and thick and pink and blush. a creative v on the soldered face. if god created man. in its form and shape. what created god in shape of the sapiens? a star of loom, let us spake? dear god, you must be human. you must look like the epitome of normalcy and have the breast? why the manhood ascribed? why the subordination of the thermal vagina? what chosen one, led manhood supremacy from the start. a strange occurrence or coincidence of this religious tale, or plethora of tales. why did the she. not rise to the temple of the lesbian canopy of the matriarch? and tell you. spray on your nails with a sparkle of gimmick. this means nothing of the power differential. the directionality has been set by a vacuum of maybes. the philosophy of the homosexual has thus risen to the space filler choreography of the hipster travesty. one and alone. born naked in permanence. we have chosen to civilize. nudism then, the law of life, becomes pulverized by law. berated by the classist hegemony. the aristocrat, and the patron of the design figurative. you must not, you shall not. all is thus the negative.

i want to say, self-express. when you talk and walk. this is expression you never knew. the slouch, the gait, the fidget, the smirk. they express the self. the architect of self-endeavor. ease-less and light. you slide behind the recreation of structure and matter. what matters, what does not. the fontaine of the free spirit, genetically craft. your nipple pierce. your scaffold breast. your painted sac. again, you re-create with paint, and the acceptability of bookmark expression. you plaster doll. so beautifully molded in the cast of haggard artificiality. one by one. the book of norms. the book of the archetype. the sonnet of the acceptables. perfunctory leisure. a wasted call of the naturalness that was to exist in the metamorphosis of the embryoids. differentiated and compartmentalized passivity, you are white, you are black. you are the african colored humanoid, ceaselessly surviving a rarefied expressionism. i will tell you, as the adult in the circuit, this is how you must express. and behave midst the other incongruous. we are in an institution you say. for you to survive and sustain, take on yourself a multiplicity of identities. the deep hormonal desirability, you burrow beneath the ground, in the name and case of expectant professionalism. in the name of self-expression, there is the sacrifice of the self. an irrational anachronism of events of adulthood and irreversibility. every minute of self-expression. lost to a pit of the denial vagaries. time and again, let me choose the particular that builds the ice castle anatomy.

in your wealth and shaven matrimony, there is no redemption of the who from the you. surreal chic and laundered man. give life to your soul.