burn your dead eyes on a pyre of bones

4/28/18 7:31 AM

My bones creak like timbers
In dead lofts and looks
light these dead tinders
and burn all your books

Am I nothing but bent torsion, twisted leaves, and wild chaos in caffeine?! I am lost in its bitter beer!

Parenthetically I lost bits, and became a romantic with dead bones!

Narrow is the marrow bones stank, and is always noxious in emittance and utter!

There is not one who sees a roach, and will not crush with the cruelty of a boot, a nuclear bunker collapse in miniature!

Spiderweb mausoleums in dark cinderblocks, soul-sucking, heart-melting, and another for the truck!

Saint Thomas, patron saint incredulous, has blessed me with a nose!

I smell all the sand of the sahara, surreptitiously shocking piles of sorrow lobes!

Having a vision is nothing, without the metaphysical atomic bond clay, which is so hoarded by porky bourgeois masters!

I pay for my art! And my set is always bare! Trapdoors! Porcelain! Radiation!

The bones in these here skins quake with worry! They have been so strung up to dry that it is only leather!

I see spotlights, and red lights, and oh so many hops!

when the daylight poured on
my bones quivered and shook
a dog, painters and fronds
was all that it took