Cyst brewed concoction

A writhing lizard’s tail
Dancing to the tune
Of melodies made
By instruments used
To sever it
A rhythm which I just imagine
While someone else
Strings it together

The sound of the apple bite
Overlaid on the ovoid panflute signature
A character saying the word “issue”
Stressing the S into an aristocratic snake’s hiss
On a glistening green countryside matte painting
But standing on top rather than before it
As if only the players have switched
But the posture remains constant

Cello strings and hand saw
Roadrunner CEO of Acme
A throne with each peg
Deep in slit necks
Of bodies offered comfort unbeknownst
Rocks worn smooth with lymph
Watch your step
Might end up being heir of the throne

Sickly sweet smelling acid screwdriver
The medium of poison rain to paint upon
With dense millimeters of supercooled pigments
Longing for contact of a cold simmer
The hisses will be stored and repurposed
For the strung up throat lips mouthing notes
So that even when the scene is canvassed by inquisitors
We can laugh at them for falling for it


Deferred render

For honour resides in wireframes
In fever visions of intense colour
In producing energy from refuse
For production of more refuse for energy
A diagram of a hand upon another
Shale rocks slamming slick from grease
Palms reflect red on black
My hands take responsibility
For the air that is touched by them
And the cascades of molecules tainted
In service of a more comfortable impalement
In want for more labour to cushion the fall
Luxury impaling the earth into skeleton mountains
Blood oaths on pedal pushed wheels
When the foot pushing is never mine
Yet what I see is the wireframe
Where inklings of promise makes death a statistic
And all I want is the wireframe

Bespoke fabrication

Stoop so low it’d make your head dirt
Face palms or for tread worse, hearse
Occult curses, recursive structures curt
Cultured furtive inserts of spur hurts

Bow so hard it’d make your spine clump
Head bumps or dumped hair bunched on eardrum
Hear some, pump turns of strung strums to visible spectrum
Speck crumbs hum, become one, burn, dump, bulk angstroms

Reach so high it’d make all things the same as each other
Gluons decay, stutter so all that’s solid melts into smoky butter
Turn into your father, mother, fraternity of oath fuckers, a sucker for suffer
Buffer of stuffed matter unstucker, flutter of luck, muck flatterer, skin slurry shit stirrer

Honeypot skin shed

Speak ill of the dead
Bananas rotting in high speed montages
Septic tanks sustaining ecosystems
Triangular arches bearing loads
Tomb domes housing pigeon insurrections
You bring this shit, to my house?
Terraformed shards of moulted earth
Smooth it out
Blow-cool the rusted metals it touches
Until there’s a hole in each cheek
And I can finally fit in a lot
Cargo spikes tangled flesh grist stick out
A cheek puller’s dilemma
A coy boy iced cream packed mouthful decoy
Sinew hedgehog landmine
For want to tucking your soul in your skin,
good fucking luck

Time to spare

Simmering lakes of organ grinder runoff
Mixed with a pinch of slake lime effluent
Chemically chargrilled using mutagen centrifuge
Ethically sourced electric brain stimulation reduction
Suggested garnish: fresh scoffs from blood rentier’s pursestrings
As I wake from my death, vampire-like, proxy dead labour
I see three fans spinning in different orientations along axes
Hey, at least they have jobs
While I’m tasked with cataloguing the myriad, devilishly creative ways
With which my brain will extinguish before contracting fatalism

Spectre blot

Leave me alone!
Oh, so you have left me
Now that I have this
All to myself
I am going to embody fairness
Canvas tears will display skies
No more artsy artifice
Just the dawning reality
That forgets to set forever
I own the means now
Of all creation
Whatever you made of me
Still lodged in my head
The protagonist
With shadows of ghost
A chorus of fingerpoints
For all of you to not exist in totality
For me to want solitude
It takes a village