#freeassociation
Be quick. Gagging on blood.
Quickly, before the flood.
Brain is winding up.
Overflow
Crowbar eyes prying
Concrete wings flying
I am a passerby
Unaware of it all
A mathematician crawls on dad
A Cockney is ***** and filled with sand
Liquid sound
An accountant sings
Like the world is caving in
It must be
I feel it in my toes
Two muted trumpeter swans
Feed on a lake of rice
And I need no anger
To notice such beauty
Nor pain
For I feel it all
In equal amounts, incessantly
Feb 25, 2020
Feb 25, 2020 at 2:21 PM UTC
Rolling over encumbered waters and their peelings. I am deloused in the sanctum of brazen ladders that were manufactured in a tunnel in Somalia now that tunnel lies, sinking gradually by attoseconds. Africa is connected to Arabia via this passage “and how could I know?” I hear you ask. Well you don’t know, and you never will. But lo’, am I not making your mind nod? Stubborn as you may believe yourself to be, I remain an anvil and you are a blanket. So, there is no better reason to acquiesce. Beneficial, it will remain. So what say you, friend? Shall I continue? Well, here’s the second frame that has materialized within the half second: I’m writing vigorously, beholden to a contrived cosmic thing and erratically, I dream of a mauve ******** I reckon it’s an amphitheatre. The fiery rings of chairs are segregated according to the stature of the ***** that rest their heads on them. Briggyn Losyandr, a fisherman Thraex, assaults me with a Macedonian lance. Its blade is merely a tongue, and an oxidized one at that.
“Begone, man! I’ve got no role to play in your firetruck ambush.”
“Sir, this conflict isn’t for me, but I belong with you.”
The writer is supposed to be disconnected. That’s a constant, you hear? Dig? Up? Soil? Out. Out, now.
Feb 19, 2020
Feb 19, 2020 at 5:59 PM UTC
In stepwise manners, the decision is made just as the cyan sun pierces through the overcast. The cavalcade of mercurial leaves pass under the handle of my plastic chin. They are borne on the temporal gust of youth which had made its yearly return. My little heart is astounded, immersed in love’s vicarious changes without ever feeling or seeing the flesh. I listen for the chimes that bellow deeply and conspicuously through the plateau shifts. Now, towers are houses and the world is a golf ball; just as meaningful as one, too. Rest, the flakes will not stop cutting into your shoelaced skin. If there is protest in the air, perhaps you are its pilot. Believe in the haze that separates you from those you wish to touch. Crowley’s charms, planetary rings, lamplight halos make a bed that screams “float” eternally. Perplexed and flying through my own inquisitions. Within these past odd minutes, I am intimate with the world’s vein yet again.
Nov 20, 2019
Nov 20, 2019 at 3:20 PM UTC
Do you look down at me?
Oh, I look up at you!
You! You! You!
Look down at me? Me?
I am nothing, by Ezekiel!
Shut your vagrant mouth.
You close it, like a confounded swine!
My God!
Stop looking down at me!
Not me! Not me!
I am feeling violent today.
Oh, very severe.
You, you, you.
I am feeling like a ruffian.
Today, and other days.
It is not like other days.
Want to be gone today.
Pick at my brain-
Oh, be gone today.
Ah. Ah ahhhhhh
Gone, gone, gone
Go go go
Going to a-go-go
To ****** row
Sweet baby Jezebel
Orange crooner Mimir
Take me to the sempiternal nest
Rest rest rest.
May 22, 2019
May 22, 2019 at 11:33 AM UTC
Lounging load
On a backseat toad
As the sky corrodes
O’er the Titan of Rhodes
Sanguine smile
Immerses the child
And leaves him beguiled
By a life so mild
I was born
Without a doubt
Heeding scorn
Through paper pouts
Destitute **********
I only sell tape
Twofold swords, crass salutes
Deep heart and minds agape
Losing the point of life
To a sleek carbon knife
I am not saddened
I will be hardened
Cheer for whatever comes
And you will be deloused
In the swaths of kingdom’s sums
Amounting to a mouse
These days float on
With nary a thought
Marmalade veil on the dawn
Keeps me from the rot
Nothing will keep you
Don’t marry your hands
In a prayer so shrewd
To be as small as sand
Easily blown over
Into aloof waters
And sent away sober
Into the mile-old clotter
Perhaps I am a child
In the way I was defiled
But I was not soaked
By time’s stalwart cloak
Apr 26, 2019
Apr 26, 2019 at 11:34 AM UTC
Christened on billiard paper
Lo and fro, oh no
Love comes to the town again
And I am rendered spent
A recalcitrant pen begging,
"God knows when,
He'll hurt my beard, rest me deep under again"
Mother! Mother!
Hear my forlorn screams
They are inauthentic
They yearn to be redeemed
Father, you, sister!
Watch this cold hand
They were born spastic
Neutered with a brand
A brand that loves to burn alone
A brand that seethes, kiss the bone
Take me to a walk in your grove
I couldn't do anything in your cove
Just a lover's weary shove
Until you take me above
There, the night will reign with a shadow
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 9:15 PM UTC
I've bent my mouth up to my ear
Believing in the stuff belief is made of
Milk replaced by silky biers
Losing my fingers to the Barren Baron Dove
Hurts to admit I'm stealing away
A curly knife held to my ear
Simple, crimpled, waning days
Throw unto the heart of the pier
Lark and tumble
Bark and fumble
Still those tired eyes of dust
I have found the beveled rhythm
Among the pristine clouds of rust,
Entropy's daily rhythm
Wake away the roaring morning
Rising heat in waxing dawn
Spend the many days adorning
The beating pulse of the fawn
Stupefied, nullified
Numb and in crumbs
A stump to the vein
A lump of sweetened pain
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 1:18 PM UTC
Nothing but a forlorn pain
Phantoms of art
Snake charmers
Larva tamers
“Free Me from the sun”
Helicopter steed
Blaring Gjallarhorn
Crystalline ammunition
Shrub-like heads
Civilian militants
Snake charmers, take my hands
Sting them once again
Render me strong and heartless
Tend to my obsidian horn
It grows longer as the sun subsides
Blood on the papers
Christened for television
Whitened crusade
Negotiation for control
Count your blessings
Arm the hangars
Send the reserves
Whip the cavalry
Watch the nation
Watch them bleed again
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 8:21 PM UTC
False- on flying feet
Shawls of holy bleats
Call down his mighty fleet
Callous men of twelve defeats
Truly of the uncaring dawn
Lies the stiff, porcelain doll
Green and red, the pawns of the lawn
Our World-Collective Greenwich Atoll
This nomad collective
A messiah of glass
Aren’t they so selective?
Aren’t the brass so crass?
The caveat of the cavalier:
Gold is so brittle
The loudest ears of golden leers
And how they change so little
The nomad rejective
A Pariah of sand
Aren’t they so reflective
Of once-golden land?
False on flying feet
Tall: the new-world sleet
Call down the mighty fleet
Callous men of greater feats
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 9:22 PM UTC
Translucent, red traffic light
Belongs so comfortably
No one made a fuss over its colour
Just an instinct for the shade
The perfect pigment
No hustle, no alarm
Being the man who ponders this
Am I not allowed the breeze or the brevity?
Are we blessed to fidget the cigarette?
Cursed to be tense
I imagine a mellow, white man
Prancing on a set of traffic lights
Naturally pristine and silky
He plays in an explorative band
Rock and roll on scalpels
So smooth, that breathing
Not a single itch
I’m going to achieve such a feat
One day
I’ll be a queen *****
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 8:04 PM UTC
The sun and its veil drags along the humdrum path, like an old dog’s broken tooth, lodging itself into a decrepit chair. Right up its **** where it belongs and longs to be loved. It suffocates, coagulates, and discombobulates the bowery citizens within the pearl atolls. By the rims of the gates, Moses receives ******** while a sojourning sheik blasts the radio. Meanwhile, the teats of Atlas are duly pounded as the mortals are aroused and grounded. Never beholden to ecumenist beauty, life lives on, defying questions. It festoons its lexicon of self-defeat and the synonyms that we waste sun on; A halcyon is redacted before long. I am left at the teeth of a sycophant and a broad-shouldered man who I adore in dangerous elan. Epigrams foist themselves upon the masts, the masts that sail us o’er the soot of the ocean, and land us flippantly onto the crystalline concentration line which is a-gaping wide.
The orifice of a primordial awaits us.
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 9:51 PM UTC
By the 1960s, a disillusionment with Nationalism and war was permeating within the public consciousness.
Man: jazz. Jazz! Everything sounds like jazz when you lend your hears an oscilloscope. You know what j-a-z-z sounds like? Well, it’s sweet, serendipitous or nonsensical, nihilistic. Modern in stainless steel or anachronistic in brass. Jazz! So what? Jazz sounds like anything that’s everything and vice versa. It’s a limb of that omniscient looker up and over: the tune itself. Oh, the tune? It’s what lies between your fingers when you’re writing, forging, loving, giving, perishing. You strut with the frequency of a conduit, but an unaware one at that. A change is gonna come in mere years, I know that much. Everyone will be deloused in the pain of the world; Mother Sympathy for all, even the charlatans who hide behind their crimson fur! All I’m saying is, whoever brings it ought to be from this place. I can’t fathom a recalcitrant extraterrestrial handling our own business at the expense of their planet’s water supply. I’m excited for whatever comes, believe me. So long as it ends me and with me.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 7:45 PM UTC
We were together
Staring out at the black sea;
A void in some backwater alley
Of central Bangkok.
You were laughing at its beauty
And like the stars I stared blankly,
Looking for everything I could not see.
Alternating undercurrent
Of raw sewage and street-food spice,
Alive in the shadow
Of a searing neon skyline,
The moon made of bone;
We blacken our lungs
Six thousand miles from home.
Set in greed for *** and company,
The familiar lilt of Latin tongues.
In a dream I still need to breathe,
Still need to feel the heat of love
Or at least the touch of anyone.
I lean, habit-ridden
Over the railings of misspelled lovers
That carved their names half-drunk
With hotel keys
Into the dandelion paint,
That with gradual loss,
Succumbs to the traffic
And falls in the breeze.
You wept at the sentiment.
I baulked in their loss.
I drew you in closer
To keep hold of this dream,
Before the night fades,
Before time has forgot,
Before life pulls us apart,
Before love loosens its knot.
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 11:31 AM UTC