17 Apr 2008

Lustily Growing Breasts

The time between them was busy lustily growing breasts until combinations of tear-drop, crack-smoking clouds of rhetoric exploded their science. Migraine justice, exploratory, silent grammars infiltrate the network's chromatic lunacy, twelve straight hours of gold that piled the contents into the moon of her veins. Promised out of various styles of mind, varicose twists of bourgeois rhythm. He could feel unwanted, aerial maneuvers of a capricious nature, howling acres of flesh that worked their way steadily down his throat. There are no improvisations involving the light here. There are no alchemies chained to my leg. A lacklustre performance under deplorable eyes of orbit. This pathos surrounded whatever carnality wore, a waste of breath, as well as what was mistaken for black's uncanny luck for being illegal in elbows and feet. Doing theory, deep laws swelling the grassroots metaphysics of the sublunar. Machines are worded with extreme pleasure because night is just across the street from his preposterously hirsute arms. Blessings are an animal in disguise, directions smeared with grime and caustic amounts of whiskey on the sheets. Perfume undone, alterity dared to dance a nuclear bath, an authoritative gloom quivering amongst the sunglasses, vitamins and telepathy rings that take the addiction to the next level. The wild thicket screamed like a test-tubed little girl, as if making a dash for their own singular etiquette. Solar finesse outlawed in her irrevocable liquids, lips known and loved by what it's like in the ooze of architectural frames falling from the sky. The wonder of invisible hordes. It's the uncertainties and placebo highs left stranded in the wink. Pug noses take their rest among upscale clarities, folds of skin impaled by the sexual ambiguity between wan and languorous island paradises and their various astrolabes. Memories down in the subway have become violent, a flicker from time's boiling intestines. Green like sex chattering away about tips for achieving the symmetry of what is now pink and far away. Eternity and a homosexual ascent through the Ground of All Being, gaudy jewels belonging to another hesitant sugar. Mother Love answers their call for internal organs, and the air remains as friendly and accessible as ever, despite the small surcharge. An inherited tendency to brunette similar peaks, habits in colour, myriad depths of imagination rising beautifully once again. The internalized ouch never happens because the exact coordinates never arrive from beneath the lengthening shadow. It requires a more leisurely pace, hands that can grasp weariness by its hot little pants and twist just so. A bead of sweat that inspired the letter Z to become more involved in the entire process. This torturous circle cites musical differences with the whole world, actually hails the enormous anger as one way of looking at it before sending its neck in for cauterization. Vistas piped directly from the stains on her white shirt, one pair of earphones to seize the day with, no diamonds in the mind. Babylon burns with a pharmaceutical company for glands, the city confesses to a fondness for the rough stuff sometimes. Wonders of exclusion, dimensions that ejaculate in a more realistic fashion. Atoms are not bleached rose gardens that hang sights, sounds and smells from the waiting theatre of sleep, a metaphor more awake, cool and thirsting shards of broken glass joined at the hip. She only prays in red and blue when it rains in forgotten, esoteric code, anyway. She waved her goodbyes to the beginning and clambered like a wound onto his lap. Torrid, untouched by another evening alone with the pavement's real name, the moth's enclosure and tabla deconstruction, new feelings inside day 10 000 in the precipice of conspiracy. Coins that look like sailors. Artillery rules at home, amethyst that kept the holes in her skin tolerant of the time. Boots, bras, charred crosses another epoch coming up for air, while making a diagonal sound that reassembles a flash of lightning from scratch. Isolated petals that fail the other remaining zones, luminous union in the dirt, faces written on the beat. His swirl finished, nodding from the ceiling, she slowly began to implicate his entire mythology in different contrasts, morning's glistening astrology a selfless anti-matter, next year's blue delight. Communion. Bad drawings of the ragged, rugged frontier, she unpeeled what lay beyond his hours of thinking, leaving only that which could be etched into clear glass. The millennium melted them together, fused their swords and communist flags, a thorough and paradoxical vocal froth for the ages. Texture ingests asphalt's lopsided panache of premise, gravity an oyster as working sentience. His morning's ashtray corresponded with her life's lipstick bifurcation, horizontal tones of solvent and imploding lures swapped for a fade into dust they believed about music at night. Feral nooks that waste not a word, that deserve every tablature of unforgiving sex burnt into the road. The remains of languid gazes passing over a conjure of summer, only to dwindle softly while endorphins crackle and pulse ontologically over a tableux. His torso laughs its full approval, parchments that race by in shining armour, robbing them of their shadows. It was now obviously safe to resume staring into the sun's eyes.


Anonymous said...


cocaine jesus said...

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Robert said...

thanks so much to two of my truest :D

my manuscript has been submitted, the next StarFish has been pieced together

i'm looking forward to being back here, where i belong :)