sunny dead head conflicted & lying condemnation
do you know summat about dead vowels
she says to him how even the most fucking proficient
and articulate lie gasping amongst non-fluency
features & meanwhile the bourgeoisie get wet
for fabulated waves of raggedy others slyly
intent on stoking up the fires of idiot distraction
to breathe to breathe but no there's no
breath a
tumescence of a
h e a v i n g
abdomen but a breathless
joy in a pair of wrists and stretched
tendons a
cat wriggles under my skin
his skin his
a bus
enters his body through armpits
he ingests the
cold cant off the air and vomits air till
bloodshot and sees
nowhere
fast & they had him removed
and his eyes prickling with every thought that ever infected him
she used to run pounding
running shivering and her
vital streams intersecting she
knows the tendons & strength &
struggle can finally reinscribe authority if
negotiations are an even possible aim
without questioning rarely
she's realising
under the weight
of frustrations
a stomach spasmodically contracting
he drips into a day his coccyx throbbing
with an unknown encounter of obliterating
appetites a smell of cigarette smoke rising
from his hair
his scalp itching with a force of
abstractions like exclusive and spiritual love
stimulated by cold and constant running water a
kettle boiling and filling his skull with bursting bubbles
and they're all here even Humphrey Bogart & Jean-Paul Belmondo
electing masters is a sick joke & she knows it
they know it
a life shadows a living hand lingering over a plate of cold pizza
an elbow joint flexing and electric shivering along a forearm
across palm to fingers the surface written with a cancelled revulsion
a calf muscle at twitch and lust spreading out from the small of a back
a spasmodic phrasal contraction catalysing an ironic flash across a face
the quivering of reactive forces fascinates us & our curling
mouths betray a lack of clarity as combat ensues
our legions multiplying amidst showers of flame
and we light up or discard cigarettes
a brightness of air enveloping her head
she sings out
in the moral fury
of cockroaches
repelled by the stench
of human flesh
I think it’s because I’m broken and barely functioning at all in
fits so old I forget people's names ungrasping at
a paucity of fading resources
your name and your wife and children
he feels he's going blind while seeing with perfect clarity
a friendly deprecating grin a black and white dress
a lunging forwards but his skin tightening and crackling
he can see nothing although he sees perfectly a wall of
swimming blindness through which he sees perfectly
without it registering correctly he feels a malfunction
he's incapable of grasping his blindness more fundamental
than sight or a failure of sight as his palms are sweating
