Tuesday, March 20, 2007

the fire on your head chases people screaming to be dead. What now?

c'mon, think about this for a minute.
the dancing queen genocide took place just the
other day.the way your skin grafted with the pleasure of
a passionless sex,
a drug without a high.

grope the fetus in the womb, scream for mercy, papa.

radio noise and screen tests,
you know how the radio star died.

jigsaw puzzles reflecting the diamonds you stole
yesterday morning.

your lypo didn't work, m'dear, try again tomorrow.

consider, consider,
curiouser, and curiouser
the surrealism checked into the brain of a rotting neko kid
right behind that telemarketer wearking
bloodstained prada shoes.
newspaper wigs and chrome contact lenses.

the way that bomb went off, you'd think that someone died.

violent screaming, lungs full of the cum still floating
around from post prom after parties.
car wrecks screeching from the brakes we shot out last year.

think for a moment,the way your eyes scream lust, you're just another anagram.

Curbstomped male porn stars in the middle of the first snow,
watch the blood run into the gutter, it's the last thing you'll ever see.

shake the way you were meant to,
tremble in the manner of a deep orgasm.

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