| wylde Poetry II . i slide punctuated in screaming pearls before swine chalk scribbled sky sucked lungs virtually in a virtual world joplin is a poppy [or] changeless . |
| Swiss Poem Account Collection |
| Poem Account Poets wylde Barry Fitton Joshua Griffin Craig Moore panta rhei Paul Kren Orphicgoblin jota judih |
| comments: judih@hotmail.com |
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| About wylde Poetry I Poetry II Poetry III |
| contact the poet: wylde1@hotmail.com |
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| i slide . i slide along the razor of my fear too sore to bleed . punctuated in screaming . suckle this rusted rasp and rattle that shaken snake voice out of the ignominious gore of grey in2 the lily spilled pink of slothed sows slewed in feral bites of blooded bone marrow maggots hold fast the festers of feasts punctuated in screaming the meat off hooked eye slashes .moments momentual hum. stridden in straddled strapped saddles trundles of blights blither the bitten jaws of swallowed tongues vice the saw of serrated repetitivity penguins profess & the class will graduate soirees of puffin drone . pearls before swine . which god ate my forlorn toes petal eyes dished like vases stretching empty stalks to watery graves. metal mouthed mulches bleed black blood puddings under dragon died tongues too grave the watery sperm swallowed free style crawling to the nearest heli-lily-pad frogs feet are the belly of sponge skin the cutlass a saline saber with sterile fangs dote your emotes, moths fry their highs under candles spewing spawn trestles with broken knees unhatch jelly. oysters latch onto their grains of grind spitting pearls before swine . chalk scribbled sky . did the milky way sour on a curdled tongue lost behind the falling lids of a drooping sagging i. did that shooting star blankly fire across an icey chalk scribbled sky. did jupiter dissolve into mercury passively watching lunar seas storm serenity. and did that comets tail fizz in a waxing waning wayward fury. . sucked lungs . sucked lungs drown culled in whirling weighted waters pound mercurially slaughtering breath poisoned vacated death . virtually in a virtual world . on a roll [no resistance] leaves empty bone on a roll [no resistance] with distant rocking clones even the wars are sleight of man no visible ground to take or hold except for the loss of what we dont know we havent got. so it goes to lime. and milkshake. and conquers of girls with metronome smiles. when the battle of value and dissolving numbers on an unbalanced sheet are surreal where are the fingers on the abacus touching what is real. the manifesto of the unmanifest trench coat matrix's mafias claw their way filling the empty everything. times ticks stilled on a roll [no resistance] with nowhere to go. rocking and reeling with only amoebic lime slush of moss filling empty stone. minds virtually in a virtual world with illusionary realties. [elsewhere rivers of humanity swill daily over falls of disdainful undefinable fealty fissures] cracks everywhere from too little and too much of what isnt & is there everywhere and no where crack attacks wrapped in rap brought back to route sixty flicks skin with out presence eyes and teeth too fine like a worthless plugged nickel damning up unspent dimes on a roll [no resistance] low fat options confuse the taste of kneading dry daily breadless sly fiber souffle dressed up as 5th avenue cold duck rolling stone and gathered moss kate byrds in the bush godzilla & donkey kong lay wasted plugged by citizen caned in an xbox . joplin is a poppy [or] changeless . the shellac table cloth wrinkles my toes 2wards smoke those plaid breasts wanton scoops dosed in muddy waters brackish kissed lips the sinatra combo pluck their armageddon sitars and sammy decides joplin is a poppy of delight wayward cloned throngs empty their filled appended doors and the lizard man walks thru paris with sweated toes candle stick men and pantent leather women slide up cobbles beyond the eyed brow shuffle of alley lifted skirts fused skin undresses and the stomach screws its aches burst behind lids too scared to blink shame or tongues lifted in union trances beat-nicks true the drums eat my ears with the visions of the ordinary grimed miraculaous their is no change left in my filled pockets of sanctuary . |