Tag Archives: love

Boudicca’s boudoir.

Female
Fimale
Faux males
Get thumbnails
Screwed
Chewed
Sum rouge and incense to
Bend brevity and mood
Furs ain’t faux and aint fo’ u
So toil some more in
Soil on floor
And tooth and claw
Sewing shut inside tent door
Begin in breaths of chants of lore
On mats of skin of boars and bores
Glistened skin a fireside awe
Paint all low and flesh you grew
Inside a heart you never knew
Twisting ’til her fathers knew
She shake your feathers far and true
Chariot to weather blue
Blackened flesh and painted blue
Comes cleaner than Iceni knew
Comes clean in Prasutagus’ lieu
His process shining firm and blue
And covered silk in juice of you
Me dreaming of the thing I’d do
She’d eat me down and spit the goo
I’d twist her trestled snake sinew
And bend Britain away from you
My long hair would use your hide to hide my chair
Red hair knotted everywhere
On her and my lit bodies fair
Bloody milky cream and hair
She lucids me what else to wear
She lets all loose and thunders ware
She’s stronger than your average bear
Melts iron and my awkward stare
(Being her children’s children’s children’s child, at least his spirit,
if yore with it;
Incense-intent timetravel make incensed inter-ancest incest ensue) !
Femme fatale won’t cut it like she cuts
Her breast so full and full of cuts
I’ll never pleased call women sluts
Wolf whistle?! dog, back to your mutts

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The murder of a phonethief.

The young writer made his way down the boring blankness of the city street.
It was busy, but solitary still with boring.
Turns a corner,
Without warning,
A gang of hoods in hoods surround
Looks around, no soul around,
“Ey lad giz yer phone there”
Surely this is too unfair
Orion wearing underwear
Does he play or does he scare
Like silly children fighting fair
The speaker then reveals a blade
Short and slight but thickly made
Through skin and bone
intent to wade
The poet child won’t be waylaid
Visions can/will not be delayed
“Though tough sir you need this phone
To pay the gas bills at your home
It’s full of all my pretty poems
Made in ‘notes’ on nights I’ve groaned.”
“Hahah fkn poems?!” The lads stand all look round and laugh
And think of sweet robberies past
They never used to pay their gas
They did it all just for the laugh
Their body, souls already passed
Reverie drop look up at last
The smirk did twist and twitches last
Into the face that souls doth pass
Back to threaten man they pass
The laughing has but turned to gas
And nervous lack back stony fast
‘Sterling’ cig smoke only gas
There are no jokes, there’re no laughs
And eyes meet eyes in slipping grasp
The writer young, no time for lack
Or food to devils: answer back
Snatches blade
Successful *thwack*
Quicker than the vein of smack
And, Heck!!
Jams it in the speaker’s neck
Lets go to keep violence in check
Lets go, Orion karma checks –
Crimson squirts do issue forth
Around this deadly plunged in fork
-Dirty blood
Made in hood-
No stop to wonder
Or inspect
His win,
How pavement fills with bloody flecks
Gargle “!gaaargh! Do ah pull it out or leave it in lad??!!?”
Damage only made reflect
Eyeballs of monk and group deflect
He carries on, tread at same pace
And direction ‘fore this haste
The group disbands and lets him through
Not running scared but let him through
A few footsteps and then he knew
His souls would be free, red guilt goo
He walked down road, no shred of haste
Just calmly and at quite same pace
From ‘fore they did demand his haste
Looks up to black and outer space


Unre(a)d/unfed (drink that gravy you skinny b****!?).

The blue – jacketed Bhagavad Gita

& the red Rimbaud’s “A Season in

Hell”

Hot & Cold taps

Non-respectively

Obviously

Sitting bedside with wavied pages

Soaked in spilt drinks & gravies in

stages

(The gravy made grimoires even still more sagacious!)

Splitting the atoms in brain cells

for ages

They perfectly well mean nothing

to me, sitting and soaking in sunlight

& free

Arthur, heading south,

comes out the mouth

of people of letters & poems & grunge

to persist in purusha (पुरुष) to perish so young.

Poor people who’re powders now,

at them don’t lunge.

Also I’ll say

The sea of mouth-corners should really

be curled (That is the World.)

(I) Stumble in, scaring crows from behind theatre curtain

unfurled, to mind under mantras as everything’s

Whirled

(back to the brightest of pearls

such as these).

Bees should make cheese please, not

Honeys, and proper

stinkie ones .


F youtility.

A proposed experiment with
time:

A man shaped by his

awkwardness

Do his sentiments betray

higher contemplation?

No


Sunglasses (soul molasses).

A shape in the head that’s
angles don’t align with
the ol’
shared normals. gives an
awkward gaze – sunlight given
out but slow though the
intake is similar – it won’t
feel familiar- I observe you
from outside much like I imagine you
observe me & knife fights
can
be
negated whilst
floating and bumping sniffling noses (and now fingers) dodge
a fin, the underwater sun’s
a-luminous anyhow

though
Not one of us cats could see!
(nous portions des S.G. à la nuit tombée?)

the non-deep &dark light
blue of the firmament
firmly meant that god is
love amongst other
attributes
(love and other Drags)


The second prince of hell’s bones.

Well I’M GWLAD that I learned to count
and I’m gwlad that I’ve climbed the mount
of being GWLAD to sit back &
sort amounts
of things we had but don’t
surmount.

Whence your scaly surface came
I could really not account,
The morbid factories of missionaries of the
bloody fount?
Excuse me it’s that Pleidiol came dreamwise (& all fat & round) to my
corner, glimmering in the light like gold but not being.


A rose murmurs.

Give me idle death

& women’s murmurs
That cough through lips

That spirit heard her
You Cherub! get away with murder
Open, winged, I’ll never gird you