Wednesday, 15 July 2015

What The Fuck Does Norman Mailer Know About AnyThing, AnyWays?

An Inked Epidemic
To Fit WithIn Borders,
High-Diveing Fifty-Fiveing,
Splattering UpOn The Paved Recess,
With The Obsession Of Rorschach
To OutWit Pollock,
And Resurrect A Cold-Nose To Beg
Joan Of Arc Out From Under Her Corset... Worming In A Fist...
Hinting Patchouli In The HayStack... The Marco Polo Of St.Louis,
Crooking All Spirited To Arched Bluffs...
Arrested InTo A State Of Commercial DisOrder,
Needled InTo A Rug SomeWhere In Tangier,
Liquor-Soaked...  Pursueing A Lesson In Taxidermy,
Old And Dieing And Queer... Coughing Dry As Swine Drowning Would,
Sticking What Timely Bones Remain InTo Stomachs To Drain,
As Hotel Bills Pile Up Beside Greasy Floor Cushions,
To Muffle The Pot InTo A Softly Padded Cell,
That Dead Wife Laughing Last... Storming In And Fast.

Friday, 10 July 2015

Inter-State Peppermint

Gaze Up At The Heavens,
Those Little Plastic Boxes,
Down Here Life Went Missing,
And It All Comes Back To Those In A Piece Of Cake...
Some Days... Lift Blue Eyes To Witness,
Other Days... Blink AWay That Wetness,
Too Many Days Have Come And Gone,
And Skin Only Lasts So Long...
Not Starving Yet Hollow,
Fed Dry To The SkyLit Shallows,
Absurd And Obsolete To Wear Those Masks That Hang,
ALone With Hands AWare...
So Now To Autumn For Heat's Last Grasp,
Long As Those Roads Where Trees OverLook,
Passing By Like Phantoms Of Dawn And Dusk,
Left To Cut Through With Limbs Lost.

Thursday, 2 July 2015

A Little Water To Rise Above High Brows

The Machine Loosens Its Teeth On Habit,
Parts Gyrating InTo StainLess ClockWork And Burning Ethereal,
Ozone Melts At Its Edges Near Eternal Meshing,
All This Is The Flesh On Its Bones... It'll Make You Wonder...
Where Does The Wind Blow From?
Cold Snap Lightning-Quick,
A Subtle Twist In Time Here And There,
An Integrate... Snapping InTo A Life Of Dampness and Skin,
Stareing For What Was Lost In The Rain...
NoThing Less.