Friday, April 8, 2011

NO JESUS, I WILL NOT MAKE OUT WITH YOU

EQUATOR PATRONS:
mythology privatized. a limp mimic of delusion. wear out your Lazarus nerves. you're gonna wish this was terminal. the drool is a wave whose foam won't crest. furnace mirage. a round table that never ends. faces roll forward slow off a bridge of cuts. crooked escorts approvingly wincing. it was the right blood work, but the wrong skin build. Her slut identity is dying emaciation.


ROPE BONDAGE WITH AN I.V.:
this is when i can hear eveything. throats entierly of air. clinching till i'm numb all over, like when backed against cuffed arms. intravenous ballpoint. a tourniquet mockery. internment camp physiques picked clean and lubed with wet clay. dragging their insides like the chains weighing down aquatic cadavers. syringe genitals dock eggshell eyes so more than yolk can well about the rim. fashionably existential. the only real questions are begged.


GALLSTONE TALLOW:
welded to his chair with urine and feces. she feeds him there as maggots cake the new seams. a forklift crucifixion. greasy collections of clock gear bleached with lighter fluid. fingers hook ant farm nostrils like pointy cranes. a spine weight dead lift emboldens your cage mass. daily torpor in extremis. dissection will recapture your physical peak.


BEDSORE TALMUND:
blisters puffed with nitrous. a voodoo doll recall. a year in a trap, though unable to be pinned. canisters of steamed marrow crust the dirt like birthday candles creaming the small of your arch. my shame walks. calloused to a fire hose degree. thumb prints refined to a canker as copper as the ferrymen disc. purgatorial immunity in a condensed vibration.to think that you'll never be sick again.

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