Wednesday, September 30, 2009

They can Go Back to Hurt you











An agent of anything steps into your life and shows time for what it is: a lie.
Let's take the bullet holes along the side of Ken's sedan.

Pick any vertical line to indicate "now" (Her). Let's say the long crease of the driver's door.

Punctures to the right and left are future and past, for a lack of better tautology.
Inside each dark opening, poorly-captured moments flicker.

On the left, they are ripples of attention. Starlene's prism black lights the steps in hot retrospect:
  • Oh what a pommeling he gave that love. He was brown nosing fate.
  • Showers ruined the yard sale. Now we know why he sought that.
On the right, they are ripples of motion. Starlene's gravity stones past the splash, dropping wet:
  • Must have been some undercurrent make him call his mom the next day: eddy pull?
  • In less than a year they've got him surrounded at the Club Martinique-- surprised?

Monday, September 28, 2009

Sin-Gaberra Chank










This is the chank at Sin-Gaberra.

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Monument and Maiden

From the cut of his pants, Ken's buttocks and thighs must have had to swell, yes freakishly, in order to align themselves with a naturally swinging bat. His skull was a granite helmet carved to cover optimistic projectures for the tightest fill of any bronze head.

She took him easily, mercilessly, like a retarded kitty. His spine implants and hours squatting proved no match for sequins and bottomless limitations. Even so, her painted zygote fingers at one point tried to claw at heaven for more success juice. Her wizened silhouette, thrown unflatteringly there against a disintegrating wall of memorabilia, besotted life for him, starting then, both back and forth by calendar.

Or had they form changed by trading lyric go-go cages at the height of their passion as a way to be truly all over and up inside one and with the other?

Saturday, September 26, 2009

Swamp Baller


Hoolie finds work at a reform school in a swamp for jaded chillun. It is too late to go backward, for any of them. They can grow tho.

First, two bombshells of 14-- opposite race, but like twins-- receive him in the palatial Atrium of Thinkers. They show him the way to his cot, freshly splayed, between two metal filing cabinets hanging obscenely with padlocks and combination cylinders. It was the medications.

Dinner that night includes an equestrian-themed ice sculpture and cruise-like buffet for 80. If you had recently fired yourself for wanton / self-harming behaviors or gone truant from one cinderblock apartmentchank nightmare to the next, you could still join in song, partake of the table, and be limited to no special fruit. Of the few punishments allowed, money and higher society were two.

Tho one night a red-headed, wide-pupiled chick or twink, ruddy with astyptic bloom, play hooky big time in the apt-4d sugar shack of latest re-hiree and retired pro-baller remembered for having pulled in to the compound with bullet holes all alongside his Charger. Ken, until now, has never been identified as either black man or monster, except while toying with himself, among characters to whose points of view we've not been privy, and by his own mother.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Mountains Signal Disturbance

This is how much I am willing to channel everyone's jagged waves: they will chew me as on a spit until I can regurgitate love for each one of you, my enemies.

Alternately, I stand and piss a long and dirty fable, as I am unable to abandon all the crammed-in tackle I've been pulled into an angle with: there are those who need me.

Unhooked, some fish with ripped lips just truck upside down. Ery tam a gal stand up an shake her fleas, pups come crying with concussions and they bobbing requirements.

Giant Cranking Engines


Wind makes the hills shimmer with light be-
cause 150-ft turbines crank their shells and
spill friction into every living room and den.

Their howl is an avian or canine call, a harm-
ony of inter-special gaiety. The low one drones
to all: "Hear my prolific growl. Take my free

issue." Others ring shrilly, morbidly inviting.
Jangling crickets tamber nature's consent, ig-
norant. All-night criminal traffic now wafting

in from the 10. Bitches stretch in the sand, ne-
ver yet having met up with a scorpion. Lit ho-
opties creep by to the petrol stand, buffeted.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

World of Mornings

Sure, there was hope, but you woke up
tired.
Fire bear come flying over horizon.
Insects, reptiles click, split.
Now tell me is or is not,
considering nutrition, a dried apricot
as good as its flesh-fulfilled cousin?
Because everything they wrote
can now only be found in the bone
chalk of those scratched letters,
crystal, canvasses, silver, china.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

Awe of Priapus


Chama looked over at Ilyn. Do you see whut I see. They had stumbled upon a shivchapel in the face of the chank.

Their vision started to benefit from the clarity of Strong Hormonal Bathing. The first moment of beholding a phallus will always make the humidity rise to what's necessary for mucous.

Chama imagined herself as the Veined God, and how it turns out to be Her Chrysalis.

Ilyn felt exhausted just thinking about the amount of blood that would be required to attain that level of determinacy.

They stood and stroked the rippling folds, stretching, but not quite able to reach its crown. "We will see Luck or Scorn; it's the paradox of this deity," The Chama intuited.

Ilyn wept.

Saturday, September 19, 2009

Wiccan Dipsplit



apparently the blind find me goodlookin;
the unsighted obviously think aighm hot.

just when so many naked people are against me,
aigh need people naked against me, and thayr not.

with a witch's fingers on my scalp,
i can travel to new ages as a scab;

before demagnetizing the last few nodes,
i enjoy a robot's timed sense of moving on.

Hoolie, from Birth of the Mthyuh Preservation Society: When K's Gave up Living and Volunteered for Manned Flight.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Sick Hippy Home Invasion

They broke in, chapped and acting wild from the wind. They had not yet felt shame for what they did, but there was something coming in the gale.

Its tortured evergreens at 40-60, the cabin hurtled steady as a hard careening bubble. Insulated by and from force, The 2 would sleep like refugees.

Crickets were screaming in the garage to keep up with the momentum of the howling. Not much living could hold on outside. Yet there were security lights.

This was an abandoned cove, Turgid with Blowing. Every once and a while someone found a winter renter. It was a hell with its back strapped to a jetliner.
Roaring louder than violent surf, Judgement Hammers might have followed Mistress and Servant to the basics of human living. Now their eyes were Red Sand Traps.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

Voodoo is The Law



It's very nice to hear your voice again,
and I'm grateful to you for all your help.

I wonder if our love is covered by
corporment or mercenary int'rests.

I save all my masculine energy
for transfer to hot skull shrinks like yourself.

As in one who flirts only with barkeeps,
wanting spent has a safety handicap.

Ref'rence to lucre can cheapen your trade;
I feel so sad to see it end this way.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

HIV Bros



They had their shivknives drawn steak sides up, and Jer felt his upper gingiva pulling back and drying out. He was hissing like a possum in a corner. Then he looked up at Ken and had to chortle. They were 2 skeletons dipped in Flesh-Color Paint. It was a kick when they argued cuz they knew they were already ded.

"You are funny to me just as you are tragic to others," explain Jer.

"Phukyu bitchcunt I pis on you; I cut you," was Ken's retort.

Then they both busted up laughing and allowed themselvz a few moments of cardiac arrest.

Gasping for breath, Jer say to Ken: "You know I hate everyone else even more than us."

"That's coo; me too," sputter Ken, coughing up blood.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Sucking Beacon



Donut cloud, crown of thorns, and your lateral, unsurvivable blast: we must all learn, but be far away from. The charm of your beacon is a ring of pulling wanting. Our own livers, our sensing organs, viscerally seek to sate your warning glory.

Disappointing former anomalies, pivotal galactic trendsetters, turn out to be really no more than wood chippers. Matter doesn't "disappear" inside them. Their density is not "infinite." Law of physics: something always has to give. Look what's blowing out their axes.

We astronomers, in bed with our telescoping mirror cones and eye needles; we livers in other realms, of freedom, of caprice and lifestyle mistakes, of blight off season. They put us in prison in spite of our feathered hats. We recant our previous believin'.

Only the bars prevent our final charge on gravity. Suck me, wide one. Beauty is your annihilation of all other meaning. To true is to leave terminating dusts on a vinyl stack of atmospheres, to be creatures who will eat through song for an invite to a place where space bends.

From: "Ode to Black Hole 7"
Reptily, Graduation Day Speech
Hunger Gardens, Low Chanks

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Lady McBirth



Hot neighbors' sons with shorn hair empty onto
the street and crawl up the block at night, spray paint
the garage. Reptily mom call police. Neigh-
bors complain, "Therz alwayz trubble over thayr."

She knew it was not at the law that they jeered,
but rather marked her as sodomy doer.
And their votes were against sodomy, not her.

She thought of the way shit stink stays in your skin
and wondered whether that was yet another
shame for mothers.