pixeled soporific artifact
gelding the slack eye of void
immanence lies on butchery freshness
crowds of fetuses
agonising on the edges of meaty cliffs
shredded squishy tongues dripping beneath the crude erection of becoming
vanishing in flabby whining
over ramshackle gallbladder
We’re done with books. Double dish of peas and the killing joy squirting through radioactive brains. I’m a carrion, more or less. Busty scarlet woman is the killer. Deadly bright tits destroy all rational thought (Bill just screwed the ginger boy). Sodomy is the tight blank fullness of silence. Big Bone is masterminding the next great aesthetic Butchery. Danaé will terrorise the keyboard and the verb. Her pale blinding boobs are cutting up human software. I’ll sit and let carnal light break up heavens. The writer eats the blade as he can when mad sun shows up with silver giant dildos and tiny blank skirts.
guts torn along alleys darkened by howler assassins warm heart snatched gray wall agony sawn neck dazed blade rusty dull my entrails on the table sheared light drilled multiple vertical crack slow impalement walking through the cut-throat street broken ribs hoping for some headless glow cracking the cartilage of the spear yelling loud twirling blinding furious cock singing upcoming murders licking sweet thighs killer Bone gleaming biting hilarious rump steak blood mixed with fresh brains spattered on Mary’s cleavage the artist is not an ego she went home licking her own tits that’s my skull “the-flow-flows” could coincide with : SILENCE
Younisos is in the CUT UP Anthology
My contribution, “Self Cut-Up in Tangier“, is a bloody cut-up on my own texts.
My contribution, Self Cut-Up in Tangier, is a bloody cut-up on my own texts.