pancreatic cancer rings once
just say bye bye and rot in peace /
anal-galactic intercourse doesn’t wait /
one more time they crucified Dionysus in Wall Street and they stuffed his eyeballs with semiconductors /
the blue-eyed butcher refreshes his cock in skimed milk but I’m expecting more beheaded dolls on the run /
between the lines
how can I clean up all that blood
horror — is nothing — my bowels per se — had razors at lunch — horror — nothing — blank sun — iced virtual fuck — my liver — frozen — snatched breath — squeezed red cells — blowing off the dark sap of my plasmatic silence
The obvious is atrocious.
Horror is life itself
warm knives in the sluggish night.
… … …
Bowels stretched on the verb — bowels cut up for the sake of the blank enlightened cadaver of wailing prose — my sweet liver, raped in the hardened crypts of deep east…
Bowels, torn, sheared in blind deaf images… only viscera could flow in scarlet silence — breath perpetuates the agony that pierces the pancreas of the flux — cancer and lust are sodomizing each other deep in dawn around the Wi-Fi substratum of death.