slutty in their sockets

The street today… technical army munching specialists, a dusty atmosphere of discarded automobiles embedded with vegetables and jewels, cos it’s the season of hand gesture, plastic surgeons with their antique wooden skeletons miming beauty disposable, red lipstick folds real-time upon a face into the latest colour, user unaware, until messaged, crumpled paper in pink fists, a lousy gang of lice, floral patterns expressed in expletive phrases, crosses of the death cult drown in cleavage, pacification verts replace active eyeballs, slutty in their sockets, silver cars loiter next to herb racks waiting for xmas, a doctor of psychosis dresses nicely for one of the old guard, fish entrails and neat theories written in semen, metal sweat suited techno bumps across the tarmac, she has a luscious gritty coating, total war within her blue eyes, I exude an inflatable invisibility, holocaustic criminal etchings in orange suits, silver, leather, faces, black eyed revenge, chopped up earlier, tinted eye window judgement, senseless substances course through a limp, button eyes, stereotyped nose, fire, sticks and twigs of burnished metal, a five ‘O’ clock shadow ruminates on a bench, masturbatory vert, curtains spasm, hate in a soggy gutted pizza recycler, purple sweat stains, the gps location, skin pulled away from muscle, placid fantasies, rotted throat, decorative lace integument, heavy dead eyelids… the corpse had been waiting sometime…

towers of iron

Governing elite, towers of iron in social dialogues, aged, amorphous text, final appeals and brown shirt dehiscence, Formica in a final flourish, fish eaten whole, the cardio-monarch smushed in the 13th, commercial fountains chocolate crisis and pressure to enjoy, power monuments regurgitate a military dream, the leader, the man, the woman, as one speaking into other peoples minds, swivelling, live and wired to the pain burning in barns, vats, immense containers of surplus, unneeded celebrity chokes the death pits with faint recognition, baroque gauche taps spew molten metals, gold, aluminium, elephants, guns piled high in the stadia, cocaine flurries in the streets of orphaned decades, head gush, pulse rush, spine tingly, fishing boats haul in plastic toys, swooping gulls brain themselves on bargain tat, bloated planes sink into vistas of turgid black oil, at the back of my mind the reality of the virtuality played on my media pothole surfaces… but I’m high… ragged blue and red light buzzes over a serial killers cage, sticky brown viscous decay, orchestrated lawyers blow microphones, a super rich journalism consumes the enemy, their portrayed primitivism sinks slowly in, an automated voice accompanies the corruption, the officers of fake pornography doing their diplomatic duty, petrol, terrorism, branded prostitution, rotting garden furniture on a phone in quiz show… now I’m high… fragrant burning flesh fights in-flight on jets, her voice ignites a bulbous phone, gliding, gleaming, yellow ice stars fall to earth, vidi still fluxing on the urinite, bald headed pederasts, civilians, guilty children, computerised globes of spittle rotate in inspectors throats, vocalising faded secrets, dot matrix print outs the latest vert sublimation, overwhelmed… still high and wanking… valedictory glances rush across hotel lobbies, stockings, a starvation of old school RGB dots, imperial cigarette smoke, flash diplomacy, smoked glass, smoke cutting throat…

dog death ruins

Out of head, dog death ruins, waling baby disappointment, get something to eat from a burning red kiosk, wagging tails of potato, walk away in another persons’ mind, a flattened face, huge black bruises, eyes squint through and past me, the lights hump the wet street, a confluence of gensects swarm over refuge, torn apart books, their thin slivers of aged treemeat sucked upon by slugs, fighting foliage scrambles for real light, a fault of vert-light, a sniff of chaos in leopard skin patterns, brow hung over from pulse the night before, twisted cave-eye scars, emotions framed by a languid pain, a fractured conversation gets caught between sliding doors, green cured lungs shout out in a animated vert, a pregnant silence takes hold and gives birth to an excreting building, moustaches crawl along lips, sweat baubles on shafts of light, neon children operated by cold hands and the smooth skinned corpo… infiltrated, vomits…