White blobs

white blobs rose along the plinth of my spine

closed rose buds climbed up while standing

rolled W to E like bay clouds when asleep

white clouds feeling out a sound that beats

blobs white that grew from my own meat

used my vertebrae as a trellis or a highway

beauty masqueraded as a cause célèbre

pendant organ chandeliers merely decorated

the temple sealed in the slime of evolution

incubated seeds of its own demolition

dashing young trojans played the code and

won the day my defenses reeled and folded

to feel betrayal the mind wakes up with poison

steps away from its own vulnerable medium

formidably rejects the pale intrusion with

no choices but to challenge the illusion

the structure stands today ironically due

to the killing power of one they call the chopper 

who does not discriminate as to whom

or what gets drowned in caustic dayglo color

how can the mind be sound in a perishable dish

the flesh no longer grounds by way of physics

a world view from a drain that led to a mission

to live beyond the end of a sound unfinished

by Ilyn

The chopper

as a young and pretty

carefree big-ass slut

I slid on my butt

down a stone incline

to find my panties

or some others that

may have washed up

realizing it was a dream

I marched into a bank

looking for wardrobe

but the chic sommeliers

were stridently delivering

their empty trays with

no eye contact

there was a rousing barber

of seville scene, but no

one would break character

on the set to let me know 

where I fit or how to get

back to my tent so through

the main square of town

I followed a young man

with hair plastered to

his face, which was hurt. he

wore a maroonish overcoat

and he kept his axe in 

serious reserve stepping 

up and down the bricks

by Peg