Climax and The Horizon

Athwarts Division


Fancy chancy. Step by step. Doing undoing, aching forsaking. Neediness for day lights, wake up wake up, call call call. With LiLu LeSuere it was always urgent.

Sun burning repetitiously up against sweet delusions of hell. Moils bunnies in their box, screamers screamers, the box is toxic, or its fallopian, always diverticular, making rounds, levels and stages —

Images and athwarts admonishing — rounds the sounds of horror and happenstance, dire and fire — falls in upon —

Where love surfaces to disinfect or replenish? As Lady M for Madness rolls in and all hope falls away.

And yet. Sirens do not relinquish, swerve the well, rustlers, horseflies, duty to compel.

Subsume — bugs fugs and cannon ardor, bungees shoot the moon as orbit under a zealous zoom —

Pray to fin bin again, get out the cycle and row like fly of crow, feather bent toward — breaking away —

Doesn’t make sense? What? It doesn’t add up.

To what?

The Conquassate. Scales nails all what ails. Conquassate: meaning Alice in chains, to shake violently.

Break being operative.


The thing the thing. Exantlations.

Break away break away. By devouring — clutching flinging carrying pail — Eating tail. Pirate swashbucks slashing sail?

Exantlations is a cross — between endure and exhausting.

Exantlations, courting the ludibund and branchia broody, incubating along hinges, sweet and fly, swang for thickness for whats there — anyone there, one of any — there there there — meaning — meaning?

With furies demon sparkles form wondrous intumescence, full of kicks. Burns fired and ferlie with balky essences, and tall the fall the wall —

And then well then — back to Blakes again — Agatha remonstrates — lets go for a drink, posh basement bar, LiLu thinks out loud maybe Victor will show?

Agatha shakes head. If he does you won’t if you do he won’t. Impossibility is a caution to you, tether and feather hell for leather.

Yes, no, always. Ever anxious for first, last, yes no always. LiLu, and the movie Last Year in Marienbad. Repetitions back to beginning again raw like a saw.

Agatha resorts: to a conviction. Victor de Loveleye is a drake. Composits of beauty and terror. Lovely and tainted — tender, touchy. Afflicts from tidal plussage burns around the stick for a lick. LiLu’s exacted with horror forms fetch of the libido aches with compulsion. Hunger, horror, mischief, and evil thorn, porn forlorn, scheming past hope past death.

Agatha chortles: That what laughs and spills breaks and fills.

And all that rattle, Agatha shakes head, and all the bunnies in-betweens.

Agatha promotes, distracts, devotes: when reading in another language, how procedurals reveal things that are flat against the fly.

And questions are revels: A thing done, who with what where when, and what the fuck then.

More pained slops last progress to delight of ladies. Thats a cut up. From Sister Mary’s Shakespeare doing a ninja on the Johnson.

Pitchers and Basins

Seems wicked ransom, strange wonder boon where evicts a mountain of death. But Beauty is a Char Lotta.

Chars are nouns with capital raised.

Chars, in the particulars — presumptive to find have thirst of a curse.

Beauty falling in love, for instance, being one of the dimensions of — for instance, and it devolving into a thing of vasty mutiny —

After all, dimensions are aspects —

Kaka-chingching. For units. Calculate the units. Of distance for instance, between useless and ruthless.

Strange reversionary symmetries — points where break —

Cave of The Winds says LiLu loves the Incendiary. Victor raids it but hates it. Radiosensitivity, have a fucking conscious. LiLu and Victor act brave.

After bars close in Amherst this is the thing, the god awful thing, walking hands in pockets out past Emily’s why not, and up on the porch and through the window. I see you. Kiss the fucking window.

Pukers and paws making the laws.

LiLu sits with legs hanging arms up. Victor decides to “water” off the porch saying — “Its a collection for St. Mary. Mind you the run off.”

LiLu repeats, utterly. Mind you mind you. The run off. Night was cold, the house empty of light.

The Merry Band

Walking around torched and plight — via sea of megalonisus, punters and looters for tubulin, intercellar transport. Raise phase to phrase of Monty rides the land. Musers over the sublime and tripsters of every cut, strut and damned.

If there is a bottoms up, what are ups at bottoms — feelies, feelies everywhere — feelies for where it breaks (in math called cut, in language called cut up) where it breaks where it breaks —

As finger pours through hole of disjointed harmonics flower girls pail with sky painted nail.

What blows asunder. Goes chummy darkness goes restless gruesome restless fucked nearly dead. Chummy darkness. Goes blue green black. A black that has green in it that skims at the red coming through the blue. Crimson and mackerel.

Grill sill fill wanna Wanda aches for refills with weeny beanies.

Means its a set up. Hard scrabble dabble dibble stymie and flume.

Sweet damnation sung of time wrestling (in fucking rhyme) —

Sweet loom of LiLu’s broom and doom. Agatha remands to fall in line. To trust the gusts. And go for bust. Or learn to trust to trust to trust — No means yes. Not means rot. Testament to the lovely and the damned. A Titular Crime.

Laughter shakes conquassate at elevations hugger mugger revelations, as if nerves around the heart got damaged hurled piqued and OH Char Lotta.

De dur et de liquid

LiLu knocked up. Worse and worse. Burns cupid stupid.

Agatha says see how blue billows with clues. Mails quails trails fails bales rides the rails —

Agatha is by fern at end of bar, turning in circles — something dense and dubious charting off —

De dur et de liquid.

Lovely thirsty chunks, portending beauty and violence, born against the night, mockingly — And yet in it there is a sweetness, a beauty that defies —

Scuttles out. Into blue dark of Island night. Island called Patmos. Dunning bunny Agnes stares out with her mouth — open and closing open and closing. Sniff in air. As if to honk for food of joy like LiLu thinks, like a starved bird panicking.

Silence watches. Ocean turning wan — then gruesome, then fearless with rage —

Visits: 2


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