Monthly Archives: May 2017

at dopamine harbor

[Written on 23/5/2017]

they’d branded me a seussian grave-head- –
those fractal tellers did, at the whalemouthed, fumeless exit }
chromium debris”, they’d christened my toes
sized me up and synchro-ruled me:
a necroholic puppet to pave the nihil-march- –
down the Armageddon aisle.

they’ll warble at your doorbell soon, I’m sure- –
reckon you a circus-pile of reject axons
{ tightropes a morbid-measure too loose
for panoramic liking.
“and, if you could, young anomaly- –
bid the psycho-lions out
of their quixomatic dens }
we do honestly want to eviscerate them—”

but don’t be afraid
I’ll meet you—

x – 1 ;

take your dime-sized chimeras and 
jack-in-the-dendrons, I’ll
teach you where to go, where those
manxome eyes’ll fit in those entrails, neat—finally, right- –

;; x – x

I’ll meet you down down down down
at dopamine harbor- -where the hypodermic felons are.
your tongues can play a festooned game and I’ll
watch with feline graphtoid slits- –

maybe therapy’ll blossom then
for the both of us
a nicer kind (- –void of shitty prism-prophecy
 for us = (the spirograph and the mortem fang)

just us. and no one else—

via Daily Prompt: Descend


fondant hexes for the moon-spurned ;

[Written on 15/5/2017]

sun-bled compass } . are you- –

i’d sooner have you bleed the blue

off your gulliver eyes.
{ – where the fabled little flutter-flux gambols free—doesn’t it
just scream ‘decapitate me. . c
ut me into itty-bitty halves-   -and null-slivers h..a…hah

i’d like yo
ur hadean blade in me 
pleas e– –

x x x

….. x –  – you’re a madeleine, i can
see. just two carousels and a humming-grave off from
the oven.
{ there are twenty-three more cobalt-birds
laid there to caramel oblivion- –}

maybe dawn will poison you there-   -before i do

the darklings in my hallways told me so but i can’t

wait to do it myself because you asked me to you did

to carve a nice shark-toothed accent into those little vanilla-arcs of yours

with nails from the Harlot so you can scream your cherry-chords dry of ideals if you want

just so you would-

and here you go again – – f* #$ . . hoarder, hoarder with a halo-smile, die 

; : –

(i wanted a sweet death too.)

biotic compendium of warts

[Written on 8/5/2017]

gestation in the vitreous moor- –
self-charted. i confess
to have helmed the orchestration in ninth-degree
– -and is it so wrong to bare a blister
in the geo-cryptic light of terra-gloria?

ave bioticum. “

mundane power to the fireflies- –
that tower on crucifixion stilts.
one haggard piercing, to two—
maroon foibles in the spilling-forth’s- – and
– -and is there more to us than mercantile fame
than troves of trade-away rhythms and screws, to
mount on { the Idol that looms tartarean: –
– eater of warts in the numinous dark. }

mundane power to me as- –
I plunder, capture
confiscated blemishes at quaking-large.
pilfered from the dire womb that threatens
ceramic expulsion- –set to mannequin heights and doctored values that
blaspheme us. blaspheme us

and I shall, if I shall- –

– -return the warts;
to naked codex
to library of fleshhood.
where the code of Us contrives a havoc to remember.

{ ave bioticum.

via Daily Prompt: Exposed


[Written on 6/5/2017]

and I say,
{ cue the records, green-stroked reams
deadman sheen to frame it all – –
fire the accountamorphous fusillade of gallows
to the adolescent-hologram that molders
in omnipresent hiding – –
contrivance of secular tellers – -de|serves;  to r-ot
insideoutside in upov er…

: signal re-engaging, re-enchanting
:// i spend shallow-days on fruitless end – –

…i spend shallow-days on fruitless end

incubating cheap orbits
in the empty, saturnesque spine of my pen.

i plant planetarium saplings where the caverns don’t flaunt
platitudes in bashful violet / / malign crimson
all razor-trimmed and dolly-edged
will the stars at long last

be my name

…I can’t say for certain
no foolproof dictum in the now or the ever swarms
to come.

just null me.

where the crowns don’t shine.
and the manacles align.
– – another faulty-again to join them all.

cremation royale

[Written on 5/5/2017]

these are the shiftings and the hissings,
putrid conquest upon the pulpit.
these are the fires and the creakings- –
pandemic furnaces, where the reasoning
once called chemical domain- –but no more ?.   

didn’t foresee. didn’t foresee

bye bye neurotica, so bid the headless children
as the incursion falls—

bye bye- – bye—

via Daily Prompt: Panicked