6 Feb 2008

Distortion

He carved a crucifix into his synapse and collapsed..
He returned to his burning vision and finally his dreams we're branded a deeper shade of eternal. This was the sign he had been waiting for, he couldn't have been more prepared. He pounded his genome then ran as far as he could into a burning bush. By this time the elevator was stuck, and his crying and pleading awakened the underworld. They bartered for his soul, while he was beaten by a cripple with a bad hand. Any spades only served to dig his hole deeper, all clubs we're utilized during the cripples beating, during which his heart was torn from his grasp and shattered into diamonds. 'I'm rich' he cried, living from the remaining oxygen in his brain. 'I'm finally, unforgivably rich.'

In the afterlife he sold contained vessels of despair to weddings and funerals. All at cheap prices. 12 dimensions between exhalations befriended the salesman. So he would jerk off rapidly, which propelled him further through the varying vibrations of the after dimension. He'd rather his name scribbled in spunk than wait for the next available reincarnation. The waiting list was ridiculous. He would take time off to appear as voices in people's head. Victims of schizophrenia, and young children diagnosed with too much medication.

Let me touch your aura you crazy scary man. Allow me this much of your time before i am folded and placed in the pocket of a drunk. These directions are all misleading. They forget where i am heading is that elevator. The shadow of Pluto follows me every step of the way.
Cold as fingertips on her soft skin. What they told me, you insensitive man, is that we are made for touching, yet we rarely feel. It doesn't feel like you've lost your touch, but when I touch your aura here my fingers bleed. It is barbed. There is broken glass on your head you scary man, hold still. Your hate is a bunker, briefly. Here you can hide from the solstice . I tore a tornado into 5 pieces and flicked the sky into a myriad of triangles that fell like grains of sand. They complain about how you nurture the shade. And when they found the reptile eggs, they asked me to explain. I do not know you that well.

Somehow I know why she is missing
She is weaving a ghost
using pieces of a broken dream
calling him her missing wings
this is a realm before 17
where he is clearly
oblivion wrapped around
the chord of G
Three Tuesday's from immortality
chasing yesterday
into the corner of my eye.
I'm doomed.
There stood
on eternities doorstep
staring perilously
into the tireless machine.
mechanical flowers now dwell
as messiahs in the shade,
your face reminds me of the end of time
as I've watched Revelations pour from your eyes.
Parts past burnt still smoldering
as you glance for second chances.
And your walk is more formed of equations
than concrete, you lay on your side as a Libra
but before the blues
you declare yourself formless
an expanse beyond definition
an illusion
according to your previous diction..
who is to blame?
she needs more dreams
more so before noon
this is the moons final wanning
the ocean will gouge her emotions
to soothe the volcanoes
under her feet.
More was destroy than salvaged
but that is the least we can expect
stumble upon her now
and she shall inject you
with rigamortis
they will be unable to pyre your foreskin
from your fingers


All I am saying is 'unhand me you foul perplexion of light!'. Distant and growing you faintly resemble a screaming silhouette in November. Limp and fading you dwell in the unseen garden sent in a letter to a maid. You suit me like electricity. And fail me like a withdrawal from ice. I drew on your skull, a cross bow. I hope arrows attack your temple.