Spotted Fever
09-24-2014, 12:09 PM
a very Burroughesque type long poem with no immediate rhyme scheme. was in a much different state to put it lightly :lol:. not at all like my usual poetry actually very far from it but its strange and i don't remember writing it so, enjoy!
~Metapoet~ by spotz
is it strange that i sit here like a twisted chemist lost in algorithyms of distaste and discord?
twisting molecules into blasphemous orbiting serenades, atomical monstrosities of an even more monstrous society.
im a dreamer with no wings. spending this life in a pursuit of comedic enterprises like viral operas of tinted glass
this axis twirls while my mind convulses. addiction to fibrous jelly that lulls the victims to sleep. a hero.
its strange when you wake up on a steel slab to learn your locked in a cage awaiting amputation.
a surgeons blade like a steel gavel birthed of blood and steam. technological wizardry like chaucers flaming thoughts that strum the lute.
gnashing teeth on a split tipped syringe tossing pleasure and pain down a one way alley. sick puppies to a laughing cat
the feline bastard purring for change from your coin purse law maker. lap the sauce while it lasts.
its cold when you burn under flourescent tubes. the photon shower swimming far beyond the lick of the wave and fall of the tide
the man always said its better in the dark when your lost so theres nothing to miss like putrid flora in the throat of your fauna
a phallic assault brought these words to your ears. ejaculation of definitive meanings with no definition that i know
turn the page puppet and hope for the best because the last tear you shed is the first breath you take
fill the lungs with sweet liquid. drown the beast. silence the roar. dig deep that garden of lore
its scribbled on the walls of your stalls that were visions of a dream when you first heard your fall.
hold that memory of the **** eyed priest spitting the blessed praise that raises man to his feet, ever closer to the sun
does the devil laugh among demon hordes for he got what he needed when he fell from the stars?
i pay it no mind and slice the sixth leg then aim for the fifth to end that literary high. where is kafka now?
hes lost on the head of a pin dancing to the rambling viral language of burroughs last fix. speeding towards fate on a silver urn
hold that flesh, cooked long ago at a carnival stand where the strong never go. would they want to if they could?
i doubt it after sleeping under flame tinted leaves of the cottonwoods lamentations and rust
touch her sweet and soft young rebel and make them hear with that ink soaked quill the bird of a feather father
speaking fast parental loss and genetic horror where have your feet fallen on this dirt sphere the eyes of a galaxy. crumbling dust
was it fear of a clone too much like your own or too far flung from what was never called home?
alloy strings vibrate and sing like blown out veins under wedding rings, do you see? the pulse and the beat like southern streets
hospitality underlies womens deceit. down below, down below, caverns are dug under streets where the seed could never sow
a snowflake tasted the tip of my tounge and screamed as its tears sizzled on the roses bud
wake of the flood. neural catastrophy. synapses snap under synthesis. opening gates long rusted and cold. smell of mold
fungal depths bear fruit. the **** shall crow black wings spread. ravens cry what else should be said then rabid monk who stares so deep?
~Metapoet~ by spotz
is it strange that i sit here like a twisted chemist lost in algorithyms of distaste and discord?
twisting molecules into blasphemous orbiting serenades, atomical monstrosities of an even more monstrous society.
im a dreamer with no wings. spending this life in a pursuit of comedic enterprises like viral operas of tinted glass
this axis twirls while my mind convulses. addiction to fibrous jelly that lulls the victims to sleep. a hero.
its strange when you wake up on a steel slab to learn your locked in a cage awaiting amputation.
a surgeons blade like a steel gavel birthed of blood and steam. technological wizardry like chaucers flaming thoughts that strum the lute.
gnashing teeth on a split tipped syringe tossing pleasure and pain down a one way alley. sick puppies to a laughing cat
the feline bastard purring for change from your coin purse law maker. lap the sauce while it lasts.
its cold when you burn under flourescent tubes. the photon shower swimming far beyond the lick of the wave and fall of the tide
the man always said its better in the dark when your lost so theres nothing to miss like putrid flora in the throat of your fauna
a phallic assault brought these words to your ears. ejaculation of definitive meanings with no definition that i know
turn the page puppet and hope for the best because the last tear you shed is the first breath you take
fill the lungs with sweet liquid. drown the beast. silence the roar. dig deep that garden of lore
its scribbled on the walls of your stalls that were visions of a dream when you first heard your fall.
hold that memory of the **** eyed priest spitting the blessed praise that raises man to his feet, ever closer to the sun
does the devil laugh among demon hordes for he got what he needed when he fell from the stars?
i pay it no mind and slice the sixth leg then aim for the fifth to end that literary high. where is kafka now?
hes lost on the head of a pin dancing to the rambling viral language of burroughs last fix. speeding towards fate on a silver urn
hold that flesh, cooked long ago at a carnival stand where the strong never go. would they want to if they could?
i doubt it after sleeping under flame tinted leaves of the cottonwoods lamentations and rust
touch her sweet and soft young rebel and make them hear with that ink soaked quill the bird of a feather father
speaking fast parental loss and genetic horror where have your feet fallen on this dirt sphere the eyes of a galaxy. crumbling dust
was it fear of a clone too much like your own or too far flung from what was never called home?
alloy strings vibrate and sing like blown out veins under wedding rings, do you see? the pulse and the beat like southern streets
hospitality underlies womens deceit. down below, down below, caverns are dug under streets where the seed could never sow
a snowflake tasted the tip of my tounge and screamed as its tears sizzled on the roses bud
wake of the flood. neural catastrophy. synapses snap under synthesis. opening gates long rusted and cold. smell of mold
fungal depths bear fruit. the **** shall crow black wings spread. ravens cry what else should be said then rabid monk who stares so deep?