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Martin Narrod Oct 2015
from far beyond the catalog
of outward facing eyes
have you tried this heaven
on for size?

deliveries to the ancient gods
chilling tales siphoned from crimson fingers bring
invite the tearlet hydrangeas in blackwater morning

pilgrim verbed and possum-eyed upon the beady flesh
aches upon this figure draped in moonskin

the mystic sewn in lightning wands
yields powers too great to speak upon
it gleams across the emptiness
but drowns the sorrow and suffering
brings the venom to the bite
where zebras yaff and witches cry

each tremendousness too great to let the words pass by;
under veteran protest guard, blank canvases persecute
the artist for the crime they could commit
******* every noun of every subject

black succubus startled from eating the fetid meat
where robin hens reveal their sighs
inviting the trembling glitter to linger deep upon the doorstep

brief yet over simplified
explained under duress
alone the student begins to profess
Martin Narrod Oct 2015
come on darling take a chance with us
our meat is on the seams of a blue-blooded funeral
a **** body burial, and the volcanoes laugh

the thumbs shake
as the fingers dance
makes the rain pull its roots on
for the showcase the generic plants
will perform a feral routine

every **** a command-stop forwarded
the nucleus inside of a vitrified half-assed colon
and if they shiver they will find their saw
tailored to the head of that aurulent god

a caterpillar reads the braille and follows my wrist
he condescends, and breaks notions causing new alarm
they are all special, green feet and orange sinewy lines
he casts his blame he curses across the myriad storms

gold minarets in the distance
serpents living under man-made rocks
counting down the seconds on armageddon's clock

a lion counts his livestock
he puts his socks on, he wears a headdress
in the shape of a flame

just outside the shadows of an autumn day
Martin Narrod Oct 2015
Alice is alive and breathing in the resin gilded air. Inside the dream canopy. Fresh ears crafting **** melodies, ripe and crimsony.

Sound will not be my weapon. Mathematics will not be my disclaimer. Open me into the politics of your bathroom monologue, until the numbness of this methodical dialtone unravels the second heart and your tongue wraps the minutes on the bridge of your heaving vowels.

Class undoes no misery. Desperate limited eyes grabbing for other desperate imitating eyes. Sand undoes the fingertips, soldering one insanity to the next.
Martin Narrod Oct 2015
human mouths have wept
before the hour, crowding gazers in the streets

news of creation

streaming red blue green
metres undoing the rite of bliss

until yesterday today had been the same

peach skin worn to a sinister shrill
while sound makes the meadow the people hear

and some were unkempt
new tidy purplish stones
new dust collecting time

not all their faces were built for fright
Martin Narrod Oct 2015
it drips from lips too hot to touch
the sound remains but the words have left
his eye's sweat their egg yellow cries
the water sways while the lyrics go

hair that is an explosion
into her blue puddly stare
all that is gravity keeps it there
Martin Narrod Oct 2015
when your weekend grows
from black to black
marble casts its outlines
and the eyes roll back
she calls to the sapphires
in the moon draped night
where the weekend rolls
turn back time
where silvery milk thistle blossoms coat the sky
are you bad as night?
have you ever tried?
throw yourself on the wheel
then give yourself a real ride
until temptation's gone
you've never really tried
let your guard down girl
then give yourself a real ride

some survive dusk
others they hustle
black and white tv screens
bleed out the american icon
Martin Narrod Oct 2015
this is where our adventures begin to warm up, they burst diagonally, stretched seams. Opened wide, blistering under this caustic and virile heat. The epicenter of someone's bi-polar anomaly-

swarms of words and their words
people coming and parting,
coliseums and amphitheaters in spectacle
garnet, draped in praise

as upsetting and down-troche of what those blue sapphire lumens grew
against the pale and sinewy shadow of shape flickering,
violet cartoon faces bruising up their faces in the pulp and pulchritude
where two separate identities meet and coerce the familiar into seeing

at what it conceives. The diplopic opera and didactic vapidness in
the horrendous aperture of the inexhaustible and mercurial sport.
Then to see as the other half lives, compartmentalized in the
curious cabinetries of disorder
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