Shake it off, beauty is schism. There is anger and horror in her heart like flint and stones. Stop the rhythm.
Yells silently, her head up, a deep breadth plodding, supposed to be cold outside, tapping scuff of boots against wall against desk, the moon is wretched, she stalks at the machine – make it feel cold and wolf in the night, far flung out and shifting under the crossing light.
Its matter of factness swollen with off chance, death by numbers, misery, the landscape sheer and green like wet wool at a distance, distance and mystery.
A brave punctiliousness of hair braided with colors of yarn, brackish colored nails, bit lips, layered baggy clothes, but a rip at the hip, Vanna Guta.
Behind her ear an angel shows up. Vanna hears voices. Angel sneers softly, everybody else in the room works along silently!
All constants are uppercased with an underline, you’ll never ever get out of here alive. Same old shirk greedy for work. However terrified.
In that machine, angel sneers, there is nothing, nothing. But a mad ruthless gambler – running from poverty, madness, stupid with destruction.
Out at beauty’s edges, a screed bleeds conflicted with lust, rabid & contagious.
Simple Keep It Simple.
The air is all wound up.
It’s that something, je ne sait quoi, that can’t be seceded.
Preys after her, it does, sweet & foul nectar, drizzling & dormant & frantic & devious.
Inspiration always bleeds (squints up her nose and closes in on 3D) as a conk on the head, as a fiery embrace, as a boomerang whose circularity is wildly out of place.
Drastic and lark, by a hundred marks.
Crawls out of zombie basement into horror story.
Parenthetically staring down in the mouth, into a plunder of woe, smiles desperately – allumed and consumed by an excess of horror.
Hit Test. Occurrence collision.
Gets struck in the neck by a bow and arrow.
Where the broken collapse. Something always blows the jaw of death full wide eyed open, to go full in – to go full in – is to suspend oneself in a rupture – mistaken with every identity of sin.
Boundaries are infinite, never conceding.
Machines where black bends toward green. Greys and black blend toward green.
White light calls forth – line is crossed out, with comment – comment reads for “better easing.”
Bunny whose job it is when ignored to pop up and then when clicked on to disappear except for a bit of a little ear.
Can you find the monster. No?
As secretely flies a dragon carrying a bloody body dripping out of its mouth. Dangerously upset.
Where predefines that blood essence of holiness, a street lined with moaning bodies, the Kings men most near dead, death calls out the brave –
Purity, on the other hand, tosses her into the trash.
And lights the fire wild and dire. As sorrow & laughter calls one to madness.
Visions of motions oceanic ill, wild to a virtue, grappling with never and forever –
Its doorway swings like a bolt –
Out in the desert, empty of hope.
Seeing bridges in mists – A spurn of great actress, ventures toward suicide, breaks out, breaks out, breaks out – from the line up. Usual suspects.
Resurrection, as a representation of truth, is a temptation of horror, that praises congeniality.
A robin with a black tail and a red breast in shape of a heart. Picks at dried mud, pulls at barbules –
Suddenly jumps like a gun – going off.
Charges wildly, hits a wall and falls straight over into darkness, into a blankness twixt and be tweened, charged with being stoned to death!
Something so low on the totem pole of medieval angst. Can’t ever foresee it when happens again.
Belly of God
Circling as hawk does a mountain, its fins beyond the pale, a treasure covered in taint of bad war paint, sends everyone reeling, to no avail –
There is no stopping till it finishes grace. Once glory is bound, glory is gory and self deluding, a gigantic intersection –
Where fear crosses fate.
Known vehicular thief, drives crazy out of car wash. Skips the wax. Forgets not to speed. Almost crashes into light post after hitting a pothole, swerves back into line.
Head hit the top.
All shook up suddenly rolls to a stop.