paperleaves
08-22-2008, 03:33 PM
This is my first post, so please don't be too harsh if I am doing this wrong >.<
I wanted to share a piece that I wrote a few nights ago.
nude dali manuscripts, etched in satin pomegranates, to the
lineage of b minor.
hungry hippocampus? the pons and piping hot brain processors
we are machines, man is a complex robot
robbing mother nature of her amniotic sac, rupturing her vessels
and building cities among cities among cities
in her capillaries
let me write. that's all i must do.
Gacy, in his black and white world thought he saw color
bloodred, yellowpaint, blue eyes
the little boys lined from sepia
to fluorescent.
I think i see hope
babyhands, yellowpaint, and crying eyes
the little babies lined from sepia
to God,
but all I really see
are steamboats, racecars, bicycles, tents
pastels, charcoal, television sets
lamps and carpets, cafes and larvae
blossoming, feathering, pulsating,
pumping, thriving, writhing and weaving
take me home, take me home
mama
take me to the place
where darkness and streetlamps
are the only things in sight.
"Apparatus and Hand" rewoven into mexican poncho
using pineapple, blood, and rice
the hats are lined as the clocks caress the curtained
crowded loneliness, aproned chess pieces, and crowned
bayonets, fans with eyes batting indigo blueviolet
and ultrasound
bluegel and citrus flies, my hands holding dynamite
and love, and love, and love, and
love.
I have given up , but i've been learning to hold on
MY WHOLE LIFE.
help me drive through the highways of milk
and the forests of spinach, rich with flavor and pinescent
so i can wreck
into a sea of spaghetti, wet with tears and saliva
the noodles will
caress satan down
and we will rot together
dancing
dancing
dancing
footloose?
fancy free?
I wanted to share a piece that I wrote a few nights ago.
nude dali manuscripts, etched in satin pomegranates, to the
lineage of b minor.
hungry hippocampus? the pons and piping hot brain processors
we are machines, man is a complex robot
robbing mother nature of her amniotic sac, rupturing her vessels
and building cities among cities among cities
in her capillaries
let me write. that's all i must do.
Gacy, in his black and white world thought he saw color
bloodred, yellowpaint, blue eyes
the little boys lined from sepia
to fluorescent.
I think i see hope
babyhands, yellowpaint, and crying eyes
the little babies lined from sepia
to God,
but all I really see
are steamboats, racecars, bicycles, tents
pastels, charcoal, television sets
lamps and carpets, cafes and larvae
blossoming, feathering, pulsating,
pumping, thriving, writhing and weaving
take me home, take me home
mama
take me to the place
where darkness and streetlamps
are the only things in sight.
"Apparatus and Hand" rewoven into mexican poncho
using pineapple, blood, and rice
the hats are lined as the clocks caress the curtained
crowded loneliness, aproned chess pieces, and crowned
bayonets, fans with eyes batting indigo blueviolet
and ultrasound
bluegel and citrus flies, my hands holding dynamite
and love, and love, and love, and
love.
I have given up , but i've been learning to hold on
MY WHOLE LIFE.
help me drive through the highways of milk
and the forests of spinach, rich with flavor and pinescent
so i can wreck
into a sea of spaghetti, wet with tears and saliva
the noodles will
caress satan down
and we will rot together
dancing
dancing
dancing
footloose?
fancy free?