The bad and the beautiful, giddy and god awful. A pride, a prejudice and a passion. Hitting a triple, thats poison to the pesticide.
Space to rover for glory, touched by freedom’s madness.
Sure poison is jealousy. Or that old hat didge: forbidden fruit.
Or the way the wind stirs things up across a panorama of gesture, teases dare into function, knots of contempt or virtue. Generics and gender. Generosity and splendor. War and its gods. Deadly bods…
At center, an arrow thru the heart, insinuations insemination of a devilish seed. How greed bleeds, as it frees.
The Wanted…
A pride of noble delusions, but fallen — the beautiful having fallen.
A sacrificial hydrant, that goes off, visionary lark a dark, as a divine contaminant? Spirit racing after it.
Whilst shame goes insane.
Escalating curtseys to a shine.
Crispy critters with castle keys (Kafka poppies). Keys so important, they evict with treasure of the enemy, along with superparticulate (aka medieval math 4/3) saturation – searching for think over a drink and the sorrow and run offs.
Merry Disquietude
To frisk a foot in the bullpen.
If it wasnt for “them” in the “pen” fighting the “bull” — the beastlings of yearnings burdens, tweedles and twat, would have never gotten “out” of hock… stick stuck stocks…
Bully bully, falls fools ferries, for love.
But its the fear, god was after? God awful fear. Tearing every start apart, to stay put and crump pit!
Fears that destroy, fears that seem to make no sense.
Deriving + Surviving (Sit!)
Derivative thinking.
A diehards horde of touch offs and break ins, for sticklers rent incisiveness, furtive and gist, treasure on its own.
Or vulnerability seeking out openings where burns the forlorn. Demon hecklers in heart, where damnation sequesters manger-y whingers (scorn after porn, an indecorous art).
Dilemmas amounting to grief-laden rhetoricals, expanding weary explosion in seedbed of head, the Snidely Whip Lash calls : a virtuous valiant corruption.
Religion calls freedom a corruption? Wha…?
Nietzsche in the bathroom spitting toothpaste into the sink, giggles and the wink.
Chandler in gown with a candle, if don’t know, what action comes next? have a gun walk through the door.
Righteousness. A quirk of sadness, brave grave mad sad tiddly and wink, fornicate formations sweet corruption of broodiful brute tyrant strength. Brute strength is an equivalence in one’s heart, of god purging its tyranny, an anger of the immensity of the sadness of god.
Good or bad, Mary Contrary, was going to make love to that gun, win it over or make it into a pun, a palace, a prod did yee and its fawns pawns dawns…
Fill thee will thee thrill thee (kill thee…).
Liquid Love
Poison in the air. Have a care.
Again and again. The idea seemed deemed perforced that to upend daylights, was pure ma-larky, a serial blasphemy even, in transit with spasms of terrible truth.
A thrill, weeping wildly for a way out of peasant hampers, god of the infinite stay put.
Cherish is the word. That turns joy to sorrow, and desire to madness.
Divine insemination, rancid reds lusting for baby to get out of bed!
Upturned by surges of pagan blood excrement? wha…
Sacred to the touch, virgin bunny being purity let loose, a vitalism of vulnerability, giving itself over to fate, to the immensity propensity, of saving for god.
To cherish things, supposedly shouldn’t. Makes a criminal, a thief who exists beyond belief.
Dismissing what pines for beauty, side out and fluctuate, pig to pig squealing as hang dying, murderously liquified —
Transforms into dashes, rescaling the walls —
Set off by trauma, trigger wigger, trauma embalm-a.
Cherish that?
Finding Yes
Peevish and squabble, merciless tenderness, screaming at the push and pull, the push and pull. Drug hug rug bug, disentry into rubber band land, delusions slinging after rigid dormants, vaporous getting nailed tales, fears raging with absurd defiance.
Do you understand?
Are those folds, gerbil generic, gender benders… Or is it just a way to justify deliciously bad behavior.
Seeing beyond way too many thresholds of solitude. To where there is no scenery.
Nothing nowhere — as a destination. Clean the slate.
Imp the possible. The deadly are tremors, that arrive with shocking categorical ease, an endlessness pursuant to performance of love, animal masks antics maneuver their arrest with powerful beads, for love of its tenderness —
Lit by gesture, sweet pandemonium, flints fancy chancy flood the night, anger and pure hell swells of furious forlorn pill. A gin still, bubbling over at night… Drinks to its own oblivion?
Diggers and triggers pour, puke on floor, fabulously break your heart. Again and again.
Inspiration gives breadth hit miss and mystery manage or not.
Comedy and Ardor
Someone yells: we all pay to watch.
Comedy is a willingness to be reckless with truth.
To want what they are doing.
Thats the thing. The fall is wondrous to boot, echo thirsty in twat shell hell, and ring your bell.
The way words capture light, spurn and worm instantly into something utterly complementary, color wheel wise —
Shifty sparky plethora, sometime suicidal.
What suicide bunny is to the sunny, an irresistible flirt with the malapert, cutting wrists as a bleed out ecstasy of pain of a thorn head, willow in its wampum swampum — a cut into the darkness, so holy into the negative it shines with wretched beauty as an avenger of time.
Who is it? this time, who is it? Do we have to be alone?
Will she abide, will she hide the victim, will she royal to bed, aping or dread.
Is it a sanguinary violence. Yes.
Composites. Composites.
Excuses par fuses. How else free scamp from last centuries holy death camp, jinn (no sidings) back and forth? Let alone tizzy lizzy of zen da.
Apocalyptic tremors smell dangling feet of Jesus, mouth open directly under bled rub of thorn. Its a feather. On compass of death.
Where time turns into religious blood, cleansing red from the velvet, for tanned and bound Constance. In a grip up, of rangy spikes. To bleed and climb out of Vampire/s scorn thorn adorn, chagrin.
A come puss to poison, don teas measure mountain.
And to spite all, let love live —
Through the night, let love live through the night…
Played with, burdened by, repeatedly.
Japanese Doll, excuse please, hammer of god is beauty and ruthlessness against the tamer and cage, a dread poisoned popcorn.
Waving on import stance of immediacy. The prehensile stuck in a room full of gloom. Animated solitudes.
French religious porn as a freedom to move things around, question the embodiment of form — as a predicament of love.
Did Shakespeare invent madness. The vividness of marginalia.
I still love you, says the dead man walking.
Her laundry full of pretty under the seat wear atoning for love, at fright heights of feverly Freudian prog.
Existentialism, has a wicked side too. Pail hail nail quail stall play game beats hand-clapping.
Blue seeming meany weaning, for punches through, a head through a hole in drywall — where infinite runs into zero, is a number that tilts all in all into emptiness where eye rides the pulley.
Nulls mulls culls. In the bait oven.
Stops. Submits. How to protect people from themselves… The ricochet munch punch lunch, lurking —
Yet everyone in mail jail with serve antes, still calls it love. At some point in time. But above all else: remain calm!
Bade benign the sublime crime. Summa comma llama.
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