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train with
crushed stone rumbles:

   plant chimney
         of flight
                                      too far
   i’m hooked
     with thoughts
Julia Apr 19
Glorious amounts of melted chocolate
swirling swirling swirling

Globular deposits onto sliding sheets
shining shining shining

Guttural phonetics of the gooey frenzy
smacking smacking smacking

Let loose a symphony
Let fall the curtain
Intake the stimuli
Real is uncertain

Your mind is a toy
Inside folded parchment paper
That once it's unwrapped
You can never reglue
mikhaltsov Dec 2019
shirt fits close to me
but membrane is closer
sip my blooddrops
in night drought
but it's getting saltier

sentence point
on my alley
past your house
is ghosting
ghoulish joints
do not tally
I can't growl
a word to you

rendezvous of stares
tongues won't save us
my tongue won't save you
his shade
drags people
right into
the moor

shirt fits close to me
but membrane is closer
dishes fly into a wall
with your dartboard poster

running slap-bang
into the stranglehold 
of problems
wringed last syllable 
from my underskin grease

my own beef fits closer 
to me
mikhaltsov Nov 2019
eternal flame
chars transparent pyramids
predawn gargoyles
survey the abode
framed esquisses
of random access memories
are deoiled and perverted
in retrospective mode

capture me lying prone
This one is about living a false memory
mikhaltsov Nov 2019
flow got from stem to stern
of breezing storm

touched the gildings
through the blackening gold

as a cellphone

you dispelled 
and swallowed my space

you're 2 significant
and 2 stinging
to jab myself in the eyes

gardens wilt 

trees drop

but no tree can forget bloodwritten files

cold short when you're around

flammable and you're not here

silver glimpse is streaming 
then recurring

in smoggy factory still

nuclear towers
built on ringing pipes

dive into abyss

in my spectacles

in my spectre of yours

sawmill workshops die 

in abundance 
of that forest-fire claws

priceless horn and you're around

depriced when you're not here

bloodproof gold

being sold

in a sneak picture

blue mouth's gasp for air

wrapped in cellophane

fueled by black whirlpool 


I dwindle into a point

past the Rubicon

I C Laura Palmer's torturer

mikhaltsov Nov 2019
environment rockfalls
              in might-have-been stars
villages emersed 
              above the city slough
envelope is through
              with the burying tropes
ramed down the settlers 
            in pointed *****
you shove. in a poem.

behind the shine of bubbles 
            lies the powdered soap
owls are guarding sterile palaces of marble
drew a lot on the fairytale cake
          you thirsted to bite off
you're swooping. but it's empty.

    run from the noise 
                            unless it drives you wild
  run from the face 
                            of problem tough to admire
run from the world 
                            till it all falls flat on the edge
                            in a crossword
mikhaltsov Nov 2019
marshalling movement 
buzz in upheaving billows
ting on a dial
frame the history
hush pinpoints
a resident dossier
microscope on my deeds

browser scrolls
the machine inks a cartridge
dictaphone is set
push of my hand
click on my mouse

newfound photographs drop
the air I brake by telling
carries crystal stream 
to the matrix 
to my buffer cell

as a newfound man
about to leave my family nest
that history flyboy 
flits along 
from my view point podium

as a Gorgon sister
it protrudes from the hills 
bringing rattlesnakes
and it rows
round my lowest point sodium

child grows history
in his marrow
sees others err
does the currency
the latency read from his own lips

motor movements
buzzing marching people
ting on a laptop
frame the history
what hell 
of a history 
am I?
mikhaltsov Nov 2019
spurred into a mast
waltzing aspen leaf
fungus stirred his scabs
                so grieved

whimpering desert dens
posthumous mosaic
                east wind creeped

barefoot axed prosaic
you cost so cheap
mikhaltsov Nov 2019
spikes in my back
are deeper
than spears 
in his

delving out 
blue pus
neaped beneath
a **** of age

it's my ****
of spinous
on the edge

mansion owner
six six six

post-love pinnacle
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