Technopolis
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Contortionism
Reality schmeeality
porky pick a pie
crab a black crow
melt your money in the dough
pillsbury punks
cripple the preacher's word:
"Nothing is as it was before
Death is not a liar
Life alone a beacon in utter pitch blank and void
a candle whose fire will not dim.
God, a dealer of cards
catch them as they fall
and coil 'round the dice once more."
Serpentine rounds
better to drown...
better for the snake to bite
to deliver the frosty venom
and sink like a tarpoon
into flesh,
flesh screaming,
stinking pigs in a field.
Sacred cows whose glassy eyes
reflect my love...
Ticking, ticking
ripping the calendar page
slipping greasy serpent time.
Wild flurry of leaves clatter, turn and assail me,
distant whisper of symphony
in my waxchoked ears.
Finer thoughts of beauty like powder drifts
my head spins from its socket.
Mutilated mushrooms witness
man's mahine slaughter
in the cool wet grass.
I alone shoulder the mountainous crime,
harbor the guilt and smile
on the leaf wet streets of late October.
Pantry girl's breasty bestial dance,
Halloween's candy choked children,
the dead,
the glaring moon
Lights the mist in the field.
porky pick a pie
crab a black crow
melt your money in the dough
pillsbury punks
cripple the preacher's word:
"Nothing is as it was before
Death is not a liar
Life alone a beacon in utter pitch blank and void
a candle whose fire will not dim.
God, a dealer of cards
catch them as they fall
and coil 'round the dice once more."
Serpentine rounds
better to drown...
better for the snake to bite
to deliver the frosty venom
and sink like a tarpoon
into flesh,
flesh screaming,
stinking pigs in a field.
Sacred cows whose glassy eyes
reflect my love...
Ticking, ticking
ripping the calendar page
slipping greasy serpent time.
Wild flurry of leaves clatter, turn and assail me,
distant whisper of symphony
in my waxchoked ears.
Finer thoughts of beauty like powder drifts
my head spins from its socket.
Mutilated mushrooms witness
man's mahine slaughter
in the cool wet grass.
I alone shoulder the mountainous crime,
harbor the guilt and smile
on the leaf wet streets of late October.
Pantry girl's breasty bestial dance,
Halloween's candy choked children,
the dead,
the glaring moon
Lights the mist in the field.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Monday, March 06, 2006
Crunchkin "Fragmentology"
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Saturday, February 11, 2006
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