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there is this pithless entity

circling round my gut

waxing and waning

folding in infinite measures

like stiff cloth finding creases

that fit



and I caress this part

inside which has no fold

or definite pattern



but there is this power

and it increases as the light

of lesser days burn into night



brightly devouring

all lesser fabrications

willing them to speak

in hushed whispers

bathed by blackness



completely surrounded am I

a vagrant soul departed

yearning for this star of gasses

to not combust but

slowly awaken



and you spark that within me

heavy and unaware

a messy cloth of vibrance

washed and wrung and folded gently

with shaking hands and thumping breath



the atmosphere surrounding

all that is real



enveloping my body as it speaks

of glorious wonders

operating deep

within the cosmos



where air is sealed tight

like a vacuum and



I can't help but breathe in

even though

I know

I'll suffocate
Reality and uncle Neville
always seem to disagree.
I guess he can't see the
tree for the tree.

To him,Truth's a transparency
that he cannot see beyond.
He must stay faultlessly opaque.
To the material certainty,
of which he's so fond.

Reality and uncle Neville
always seem to disagree.
I guess he can't see the
you for the he.

The only things that
are real to him,
are those that can be held,
but not felt.
Each alternative truth
is a tree to be felled.
Seas of concrete,
with fish climbing from the cracks.
Evil portent.
Growing hands brandishing knives.
Tongues in their eyes,
that slither with whispering intent.

Each whisper grows a wing
and a leg, hops and *****;
pointless dregs.

Filling each space,
With slashes and wild blind hacks.
Pain important.
Fatally finally stealing lives.
Teeth to their lies,
that leave all life impotent.

Each tooth a flutter free,
weightless fee, rots and drops;
pointless dregs.
Just some nonsense.
I want to melt a wax Viking,
with a piece of sword shaped kindling.
Watch the face drip, sag run into a
droopy frown of fluid features.

To saw the head from a celebrity mannequin.
Watch fall it to the floor,
with it's perfect teeth and face;
plastic smooth skin.
Almost as plastic and smooth as the “real” thing.

To tear the words from the mouth
of a liar, cheat, chancer and con-man.
Rearrange the words to spell out the truth.
watch the eyes and puffy face spasm,
as if possessed by a phantasm.
Through the light lanes,
Through the dark lanes,
Through the paths beneath
the sky, I wander,
And the sun a *****
Brilliance in shadow,
In the blue-green-brown speckled
Beauty of her Eye;
Revolving, revolving in ad infinitum,
Dancing in a
Faery dream..
Will she blink?
An exercise in Imagination
Astral architecture hangs on the balance of my once fragile mind, now unbound and open to the potential of the Penrose Stairs that I climb. Infinity, I thought, was an innate idea man was not meant to understand, because if the universe is in fact infinite, into what does it expand?

Standing at the precipice of epiphany, teetering at the very cusp of clarity, it came to me in a monumental moment of sibylline singularity:

It expands into itself.

The thought was too profound to perceive, too ravenous to be satiated. Could this be at long last, the answer for which I have waited?

I realized that consciousness operates under a similar uniformity: the brain won't outgrow the head, but the mind will outgrow the body, and our echoes will radiate across the endlessness of existence, for all our forgotten frequencies are oblivious to the concept of distance.

We are all limitless beneath the veil of this perceived reality,
but only there are we human, and only then are we free.
Marley Brando

So many options,
can’t say too many options,
but honestly what do you do,
when even too much is not enough,

“What?”,

“Were you saying something?,
I feel like I’m in a dream,
I’m asking for affirming,
because I don’t feel a thing…”,

You stare at me with those infinite eyes,
“I feel exactly the same way.”,
then you shift your gaze,
and stare off for eternity,

as that fire inside keeps burning me,

something simmering inside is burning me,

anxious and pacing,
all out of patience,
feeling like a Patient in a ******-Ward society,
yes I’m fine so please don’t bother me,
I won’t sign over royalties and no I don’t need notoriety,

I’ll leave that for the words,
and all the flabby flack from the flock of ruffle feathered haters,
waiting in the wings I fly by & leave that for the Birds,
word word word,

words are what we scribe as a Writer of The Times,
words to explain when I’m gone,

words to explain when we’re gone,
when the memories have all faded,
because unless a Tyrant burns the books,
we’ll have our history scribed onto these pages,

lopsided but liberated,
feeling like a rat in a cage,
or a canary in a coalmine,
consumed with the thought to “Just get way.”,

just get away,
I’m already gone anyways,
don’t be fooled by this shell of a body,
I’ve been through Hell so now I’m in The Hills where I party,

Heaven can wait I’m on the Guest-List anyways so I won’t have to waste time at The Gate,

ready to party,
with Jim Morrison and Bob Marley,
and Brando but no Commando,
yeah I’m talking to you Sylvester sorry,

Charlie,
Chaplin for certain,
Sheen well we’ll see,
Janis, Jackson, Kurt and,
Pac and it don’t stop,

does it,
what’s in,
your wallet,
Rest In Peace,
Christopher Wallace,

smoking a chalice,
on Cloud 9 with Marley Brando,
cool as an Ice Cream Sundae,
relaxing watching the world go bananas,

B-A-N-A-N-A-S,

shout out to Gwen,
Steph,
I spin around and ask,
“What is this,
I meanI know it sounds cliche,
but does any of this really exist?”,

“Oh and where’d my mind go?”,

So many options,
won’t say too many though,
but honestly what do you do,
when even too much is not enough?,

“What?”,

“Were you saying something?,
I feel like I’m in a dream,
I’m asking for affirming,
because I don’t feel a thing…”…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

author of 3 #1 Best Sellers,
& The Poetry Trilogy

Okay Okay Okay, this one I can't say is a True Story... ∆
your split-lipped compliments are
boulder-heavy with caramel
undertones,
while i’ve got my basic stardusted
collarbones
and dancing fingertips;
ink stained and lust-conforming.

you’re stitching your ideas
onto my cerebellum,
and as i cry ‘foul!’
you fly away like
you’re free.
spit speckled with blood
and my dna,
you laugh and cry and kiss
like you’re mine.

dreams are growing
like wild flowers, and babe they
make me itch for some sort
of way
to alleviate the pain.
but people claim,
that these moments
we spend are never going
to be more
than little discomfort
and i dare say
that they’re wrong.

my body is not weather proof.
it will wash away
in the rain,
so hold me under your umbrella
and keep me
by your side,
because that way
if all else fails
we’ll wash away
together.
it's a bittersweet symphony this life.
What is it that stops us from questioning
the scaffolding of our reality?
Why aren't more of us solipsists?
Shouldn't we all be like those
delusional violent ones?

They see no reason
to think the world exists
outside their heads
Therefore their thoughts influence
their reality more and more

All of our thoughts
influence the reality
We sense to a varying degree
unique to each of us

But do we really all, for the most part
believe some **-hum passivity?
Oh, what pressures magnetize our brains
i'm your o so wanna be lover
I'm afraid not what you would expect though
i admit to being a difficult pleasure
perhaps
a tad strange looking
squishy with long tentacles
half man half octopus
with a winking cycloptic eye

i entreat you
looks can be deceiving
how many pretty boys have you loved
crawling worms for a soul
that have left you a ruined creel
a jagged cry chattering tears of desolation

have you ever asked your self
who adores you
who would give all to protect love and cherish
i'm waving my eight arms at you
from the center of the universe
i eat black holes to kiss your ***
am i not a cosmic horror
with my big Cthulhu smile
quivering with tenderness

do you hunger for butter **** lollypop
i have two big **** heartbreakers
with teardrop curves
a feast for your ravenous holes of emptiness
and many armed tentacles to hold you tight
to slither all over your tender woven caves
to pull you into me
with suckers that thrill
during swirling inky *****

i will unravel your mind
your soul tilthed
if you can get passed
my
gray rubbery boneless head

i can push this shape-shifting balloon face
through your annul tubular contours
all the way up your beautiful ***
licking
salivating
tickling into your
tender bowel and throat
like a great dancing tongue
a stretched waving goodness
entering your mouth from the back side

can pretty pretty do that?

come slowly unto me my beloved
i am all chromatophores
endless glittering nightlights
incandescent
so we may wander our way through long dim nights ******
in the deep deep dark
with tentacle ***** galore
an infinity of entertainment
for every crevice and desire
and one winking cycloptic eye
that pierces your soul
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