Make an Exception

Everything is a voyage to somebody, something.

Not fight that. Woo the cacophony — let them in, let beauty in and the snake will lure.

Urgency for the mysterious buries me. Becomes another loophole searching searching…

And gets sick again, poison fills – the terror. Scorches my little village of the damned.

Eyes stuck in stone? slave to mystery’s altar? show no mercy, sift through guts, gathering nuts.

Survive survive.

Morbid stretches pushing out into breathlessness. Allow the abstract.

Blowsy crusty terrified.

Freedom is slippery — floats across, rifts in sky. Poison is brutal.

Misreason churns up a fort, full of plodding emptiness engaging with false denials, doubling back again and again.

Marginalia

Lid swallows rigid — searching for soul in lust to forage a trust, up against glorious marginalia. Rueful plaintive restive intractable.

Naked ruse my mysterious ruins – reconstructing its miracle.

Kindness lurks with stakes, driving through.

Soaring frantic outpourings, reveal hunters in orbits. Orbits joy rides craven and cessed, with irony, pathos, diligence.

Beauty scarfs as wind sweeps through — pockets bills, gets killed. Death crawls down my back.

Alligator enters water. Hunting for a wrap.

Begets the fizzy and the dizzy — my rhyme crime, fuse muse drizzly — chew the chewy banks of mystery, volt and molt, headbanging.

Poison, haven craven for the roving hopelessness, up against ill fill kill will sill on a hill that beauty and hell makes and takes, nothing is all of it, belongs to me.

Body plagued with riddling enemy. Days and ways, sunk into bends unbundling wealth of torrents, mercy sometimes depends on death.

Mind became everything.

La Lang Fang

Suffer from language, subliterate visual, nectars for their “identity.” Anger pouring down on by infernal weights — Sweet ruthless beautiful petrified and prettified via flashes of hysteria — magic segues asunder plunder for resurrection of the beautiful and the damned.

Tenses, genders, birds and fence, snag in the wag, la lang goes bang. The wick, it stings. Sniffs and punts. As windfallen and galvanomagnetic, conjoined in a body count.

Skulling lures the dead.

Riven to a raving darkness, bleeding sacrificial medieval weevils, with want of something anywhere serene ensconced illuminated.

Guards

As if fanning pools can guard from life’s spells. There is a hiding thing that comes at me from random evil. In any direction.

Syllables slip thru fog. Permission comes along like a mailbird jailbirds sigh.

Another shooting just down street, hit three bystanders.

Guns as a war of misreason.

Must reduce my vocabulary to treason. Due to misreason.

The fighting thing. What are you fighting?

Cutters scratch till bleed. Alarmed syllables began to kneed. Violence imposes the horror of clockwork orange and blue.

I have come to the conclusion. Penises have souls. And cunts flow out exponentials.

Alchemy

Syllables are chunks out of the void?

Cynical, my sins, flash and crash (and diaper rash). Holy asserted corruptions of the flood, rangy and merciless.

Lures license into rebellion as arisen from the absurd. Absurd became the very body of god.

Stowaways show up, for little miracles — for everyday swabs.

Light flight so wretched bright — hellevated to floating coffins, endless nights, ludibrous hikes pouring over the unnamed.

Pastiche goes up against Philosophy — and explodes in stomach of both of them.