Monthly Archives: April 2017

denim in the milk-lorn dipper

[Written on 28/4/2017]

he isn’t sure sometimes.

whether stars are shaven peppers of Orpheus’ lips,
or whether moments are dreams, or if the nylon formula of reverie thrives in reverse-calibration after all—

Because, “you wouldn’t believe it though—the counter-skeptic’s ink spews a mystic tail: even he does not.

“you wouldn’t believe the glimpses
that courted the breakfast I had
a couple of fog-whisked o’clocks ago.

the militant bunnies stooped in maple- –
shed grenades for a pretty waste, lithic pastille-greens;
the toilet’s in the lavender, if you couldn’t
past the Teapot factory, in the cockeyed morn’.

{ but, really– –directions matter one-to-naught in
the paradigm of nimbus Fancy. }

there was more, “and I swear….well maybe- –
buttermilk-drones, and
too-long, naked prongs- -pax robotic;
calcium keys and phosphorific.
egg-shells housing dapper owl-wraiths
that fume and figure less than mythic—

and you wouldn’t believe it though, 
but 

there was even denim in the dipper
textures gurgling at paper temperature
frays bleeding over- -foam-proxies
where I’d padded them –

I remember now I’d
I’d planted them
Alice engrams where the mildewing lonely’s
festered in silence. zero

for company. 

{ ? ……  }

and Morning trundles on
for the boyish specter
with another spread of denim
from the milk-lorn dipper. }

Advertisements

the mecha-lark definition ;

[Written on 25/4/2017]

impudent. } 
so scathes thy concrete will – –
out a mercury-spout, regulations hum
salacious song to sparrow’s meagre dance.
– – ah and,
you’d like the tune—wagers he, teeth brewing a shot of glee in the knife-night—
the way it wraps itself
around those neural tombs
where you buried all and epsilons and me.

– where is your
{ hiss and tangent ; haemo-vengeance—
where is your sparrow now

{ wretched warlock
I bid to you, hello; I have- –
gin a-cacklin’ in the boiler-room
a quarter-bone away. you’d
want some.” – –claim a heckle, a high and the inverted-fang sculptor.

i’d reversed the spines while you were away
sapped minuses to imitation void.
see? see—!

see the lacunae we groomed along that fallow equator- –
see the machinated looms, the figure-funnels
see the mecha-lark; its harrowed beginnings—

see the fledgeling corridor, the spite-lines- –
that haunt, a slave-movement to
{ bohemian nocturne , psi-concoction:
of Leviathan composer.
see the mecha-lark; its macabre medium—

see my gift for you, prancing memento
see the { needle } in the winery,
the heart in the beat- –
;
ready the adieu, ready
for the mortal turbine in the blue.
for the ribcage roundabouts that spin, livid
for you. my defamation darling
and see the mecha-lark, its avant-end—

—and blood, soon; shall it reap off you.

nullibicity (no more lanterns)

[Written on 12/4/2017]

and the cat’s out of the biblical bag,

out of the flexible tome Abyss charted in

its gallant descent to earth nouveau.

x

and It tells you, in whispers esoteric (technical waifs, I’d befriended them – –
friends ; I’d always wanted, you know

that there are creeping codes to living , – –
a city of vermin posing as civilian cryptogram
to marshal revelry in robotic blanche, and safeguard
{ the Colon command }
V
– – immobilize the cardiac panel – –
immobilize now , aeons proscribed
poised for dark deletion.

x

logistics whirr, tandem in medicine
in the sugar-flecked malaise of rococo bleach ;
{ why were the pavers late? just. damn WH ..Y—[
V
“…you botched the pact, and I know
see that sacrilegious meta-claw, how it spumes
toxic, vilest-fresh from Wonderland.
and you plead not, lifeless hallowed appeal! but
– -by the scheme-of-flesh, I vow
to raze the lights. decimation
’till I am free.

x

i bid thee farewell, {chimes the newly-devil
– – o, noble creed of lantern.