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cameron-haste
Studying physics. Poetry is a passion none the less.
Glances shared at infinitesimal instances trickle up my vertebrae, blow the dust away & chew the tin foil for me. Nonchalantly running a gauntlet that I designed with architectural displeasure. If you absorbed all the gold you've ever touched, feverishly drank the blood of gods, suckled the syrup from tangerines until you blessed a famine, stole your story from a pack of gorgeous wolves, or inhaled the whispers of every wise soul it would still not explain your unprecedented growth & elegance. A superlative pressure wave in the eyes of a politician. Purely an enigma. Beauty in the form of human nature. I truly flourish in this experience.
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Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 9:56 PM UTC
Chess On The Veranda
Her wasabi breath, snake venom injected crow's feet & chain smoking reflex could scare a country into prohibition. Enough ****** power and spine behind every word to ******* the male populous into a plethora of soggy invertebrates. Barnacle encrusted spinach weave, obsidian void lip stick she squeezed off a bat's back & a Columbian waltz she stole from a putrid little beasty all mixed up & spit into a murky cocktail glass wearing high heels. You could feel the atmosphere tickle a bit when she raised a brow at You. That silky whisper of a voice was just an illusionist prelude to the thundering brass of her ringing enthusiasm. She was the most powerful being. A lioness among the flock of sheep. A droplet of viscous mercury in an oil spill. Raw. Sharp. Lethal.
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Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 10:21 PM UTC
Water Off a Bat's Back
Plasmatic schematics mold plastics & filament dangles in the doorway. Grape fuit sweat, enough to fill a Basilisk flask, stains my nostrils. Thermodynamic hammocks solved the energy crisis between me & her. A golden silhouette postulates in my doorway; speaking in tongues to her **** She is the structure of water. The process of a thought. Gouge out my eye & hold it consciously between those clammy palms .
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Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 11:37 PM UTC
VHS
Developing a nicotine addiction over the silk ambiguity of a pleasure twitch. Covering up those cyanide dreams, stapled at the seams, with obvious white Pickett fences & regurgitation. Her desires rattle in a spilt tongue oscillation. Contradicting, foreign mumbles spill out like crimson viscosities; my mind was a pig slop maelstrom amoung those ancient seconds Those words will clatter together like a phantom in my plasmatic ear waxes until Peacetime: "I love you." No hesitation. Solidified. ****** like an Indiana Jones classic. Intoxicated remakes of that time we started something: An archive for death memories, recollected long after your exodus. Asphyxiated.
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Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 10:47 PM UTC
Omega
The crippling noir of that vaguely African horizon devours the Argon flare of the city's last words before the fugue. That dimly lit control panel faded into a broccoli tipped oasis as I sauntered down the incline. Viscous, swamp water murk seems to fill my lungs as I descend into Salem's lot. Lighting is Everything. ************************* My bowels kiss my muscle wall, churning, as her eyes mold into an uninterested satin color; like a drop of milk in a kettle black cup of coffee. Admiring a vampire for its reluctant seduction. He would drain it before it lifted a curly clawed finger. I bet he feeds off blister pus and verses from a half smoked Cuban.
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Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC
Salem's Lot
Marinate me in sterling serendipity; a lace handkerchief blowing in electric blue Chinook. Howl and twist your obsidian spit down her leather throat until she reproduces glass golem. Clang & the brass of the thunder, muffled underneath a Reith that was last lathered in hathgraven gatherings. **** him with your sour tongue & rag water whistle . Cut him down from that arugula suspension & let gravity fold into him, like an aluminum foil gargoyle, crush to the core.
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Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 9:35 AM UTC
Xenon Charus
A tortoise ripe with lime stone wrinkles Shakes off the final layers of that sediment Crystal that had calcified itself to the classic side Of the shelf. Like a filthy barnacle that clings to the inside Of my skull & whispers phrases of Walden to the black one Of my mind. He threw that spider silk & iron twine around a lion's Spine as a sign of respect: Then he yanked as a means to dissect When it was least expected. I was the envy & death smudged black The ***** duffle bags under a skeletons Hollow hole. I hate you with every fiber.
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Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 1:13 AM UTC
Polymers & Ice Cream.
Moss covered women beggin' fog man to grip a cig from their tangled wigs (a snarl of emerald branches & voodoo masks with plastic flasks, they grave loot from caskets & trash.) Raunchy regulars calling loogies to duty. I've been livin' in a tumble **** with a doctorate for wildebeest.
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Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 10:56 PM UTC
****** Sushi Bar
Some lust driven, mechanical, force bit my heels with Her. A skeleton scatters digitally & opal curls fold and rally; like the ribbons I ripped off & fed to the floor boards, records gawk at the floral four chords. Corridors with meat lords & siphons at the doors of my poor endurance. Lather me in mollusc glue & beach chairs; I will win this war for you. Will the bulky books teach me more than the feverish looks? A question to a bronze haired child, transparent as the parents. Telescopic looking glass with the basket of the teeth we've lied through set aside where I reside: A coral cave with my liquid aluminum hunches. Playing chess in the nest that I built with spit & twigs from another clown with a different wig. The hippy who screamed at his flower. It was Halloween & the malt made me assault a Queen.
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Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 1:10 PM UTC
Europa Quintuplets
They sell all kinds of spices where she's from. Humiliated. Embarrassment polymerizes a sludgy squid body of mine, thrashing in a salt water soaked, choked, electric chair. I haven't ever resorted to paving a silk idea with shark printed carpet since the ancients. A tombstone fridge. I knew it was that gypsy on your shoulder talking on the telephone. Gun street girl, riding rusty in a cyclone. Cologne scented gherkins, flirting, while her man is slurping jerky. I'm a turtle who lives in the desert because he hates the English language.
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Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 11:00 PM UTC
Gun Street Girl