Younisos / Writer

Posts tagged “prose poetry

Viscera in plastic bag

 

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 /

blood
dropping
between the lines
how can I clean up all that blood
in
my
bed /

 

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Connected corpse

Connection is rotting,
pouring its pixeled fever into the bowels of global death.

Breath is decaying
— Google is puking the void
of its dark cum.

Binary putrefaction
leads the blank becoming
of
beheaded
urge.

Tits and butt will take you online
to the algorithm
of your own corpse.

 

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by Younisos


Sensorial horror

 

The obvious is atrocious.

Horror is life itself
flowing,
daylight, breath,
warm knives in the sluggish night.

… … …

Gutted
gutted silence.

 

00INSTA

Drawing by Younisos


Bowels

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.

 

 

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Younisos


Horror

We cling to writing… trying not to end up in such naked misery… but misery catches up with you, and horror too.
Suddenly, poetry is over. It goes away to squirt elsewhere. The day is naked. Raw anxiety. Horror flows free, straight. Daylight splatters my face and I die by breathing.
For horror is life itself, flowing…
Warm blade in the throat of the night.

 

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Younisos
photographed by Romain Carreau


Digital putrefaction

Images are dripping…
Cancer is coming, soon…
Cyber-mushrooms puke their mad fuchsia sap in the ears of crippled desire.
— Sophisticated civilization disgorges the most rotten meats.
I have no smartphone. Death is coming, baby…
Digital infection invades the flux, huge abomination… putrescent, crawling larvae, chips and microchips swarming in pus.
Where is my cock ?
Solar vertical forces are swallowed by slugs, worms and virtual octopuses.
Why don’t you slay me, baby ?

 

 

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Self-portrait by Younisos


Digital panic

Harnessed with a steel dildo, Danaé bangs the throat of her tremulous pig who is fucking a noisy android doll with encrypted tits.

Sensual anxiety is growing around the blind digital nakedness of connected gazes.

Mutant livers invade the elevators in business towers where they arouse the anus of the future, while billions of cocks and vulvas disgorge their filthy waves of pixels, recycled into sluggish virtual coins.

Google is now sneaking into the warmness of the shit inside your guts.

It’s done.

 

trash blood