in the suicide pond where drowns dementias' reign
the blue blooded knuckles of the crab apple stove
dusts the spitroasted pelican heart with benign lumps of marigold bees';
with a fully erected heart
pumping blood through forgotten trespass on a golden syrup sponge of deserted thoughts
flooding the eyelids of a walrus tusk as it disembarks fron Southampton Quay
bound for the sunshine hills of a muskrat spliff on bended knees
smoking the chocking locks of a sunglass eye in a rolling tobaccoo ball.
where are the wise mans trouers?
where is my cultured breeze?
that blows with the flow of scarlet eyes
at the wake of the cactus leaves as the butler cries.
where is the dripping lard that burns my eternal greed?
as it seeds your powdered wedding ring as it sours my tasting of your post natal hormone seed;
bleed with the sun
feed on the sublime interroagation
as the prison guard snickers with the confessional sums of love minus fourteen below.
blow my Brighton rock
with the glass eyed sharing of a purse string
beat with the heart of a Portugese tale of stories ten miles tall
as its pockets my rear ending smash
and crashes into the sublime introvention of loves most beautiful drip
as my enemy sautes the potato of my grinding pole.
feel and be felt by the touching tongue on my vericose vein
in a suicide pond where dies dimentias reign.
with a gin and tonic smile
I will stroll the miles with my observing buckets of a painted sunrise
and picture the squeezing of an envelope eye in a letter from the queen;
one hundred years of a plausable regime
it is what is seems
hanging on a boatyard chain
as I sail with the pigeons tail with his anobolic steroid and his pressure pill
spills my blood on the feet of a mooning flea
pictures my ass on his as I grind with the fallen leaves in his pockets of abnormal refrain.
jacket my potato fries
and waltz with the pretruding brisket until we dive into the bakers baskets ball
where hides my inner flame of a sectioned mood;
- Author: Melvin James (Pseudonym) ( Offline)
- Published: June 3rd, 2021 13:35
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
Comments1
'where is the dripping lard
that burns my eternal greed?
as it seeds
your powdered wedding ring
as it sours
my tasting of your post natal hormone seed;
bleed with the sun
feed on the sublime interroagation
as the prison guard snickers
with the confessional sums of love'..
wow!
although I think I need a little help in context
to guide me, sadly
I lack the brain capacity to comprehend fully...
still, of what little I've gleaned
I've insatiably devoured
with my glutenous greed for all-things imbued
with that artistic integrity: of Poetic majesty...
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