"abomunist" poems
Abomunist poetry
in order to be
completely understood
should be eaten…
-except on fast days,
slow days, and
mornings of executions.
Abomunist Goldilocks
eats the 3 bears.
But the porridge gets her
in the end. It is just right.
Abomunists read pictures
Downside
skewed
to their children.
Abomunists sing
south by southeast,
but fly Southwest
through time.
Abomunists adore a vacuum
so they fill it
with Abomunable gifts
like chicken seeds
and rose guts,
and the vacuum fills.
Abomunists abhor a vacuum.
That vacuum said rude things about your mother.
Abomunists have no mothers
and hang around streetcorners
shaking the lights until they go out.
Abomunists are obliged
to change the bulbs once
they die and continue shaking.
Abomunists encourage
police brutality
and are cheeky
motherless ********
Abomunists go
hand in mouth.
Abomunists go
go go go go.
Always go.
Abomunists vote to
abolish
red lights.
Abomunists ride hydrogen
bombs to work.
Abomunists go to
bullet heaven.
Abomunists slay the dragon
only on Tuesday,
but chase him
through the ***** den.
Abomunists lick cold poles.
And pull their tongue
out sometimes.
Abomunists
cry to Billboard
revelations in Coca-Cola
and lingerie.
Abomunists listen
to the bottom 40 hits.
And drink the middle classics.
Abomunists drain
their cups
and never ask for more.
They just take it.
Abomunists scream hoarse
and horse
and pony
and the rattlesnake
guttural hissing
serpentine buzzing
bees. You wouldn’t understand.
Abomunists elect
their drones and
the queen eats all
the honey.
Abomunists run
from office
and hold sway from
cardboard towers.
Abomunists are bad
architects and they
fall from grace
- so to speak.
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 8:35 AM UTC
Jump out to the camera
homage to the renegade beats.
For weeks reading screams
mock us, their torment
crossing mental frontiers
—loud streets, sprite deviants
smashed 1999.
[Abomunist Jail baby]
Stop suffering, you weren’t swallowed
God machine Thursdays.
roses are sentient, violets bounce
prophet muscle
—abracadabra headaches
purging Hephaestus,
whose breath at my altar
awoke. I never remained
a threatened voice. Hollow voice,
fleshly chain torture,
“my Satan you are truly a dance”
discharged generation
thinking conversations
Dec 28, 2019
Dec 28, 2019 at 2:40 AM UTC