I am unraveling webs in the scathing sentence of intolerable desire,
A prison of prints and pictures barred by beautiful blondes,
Rigid, icy, spaced by invisible thoughts between them,
Rows hypnotizing one after the other, belly-dancing while they wear their smiles.

They break from their line formations with socket wrenches in their right hands, coaxial cables in their left hands,
And they slink and slide and slowly salsa to my mattress against the wall
As they adjust and tighten their wrenches upon each of my arteries, and feed their coaxial cables into my ears.
Their strawberry perfumes force me to note new appetites in my concrete lungs.

They melt into me, and I melt into them, and we roll into a clay figurine against the plaster wall.
Their hair burns red now, or brunette, or perhaps all the colors of a rainbow of self-inflicted hypocrisy,
And their breath is exhaling like ceilings fans, softly and slowly, out of my lungs,
And I can no longer distinguish which of us is the other anymore, nor do I really want to.

We are a cosmosis;
We are cosmetology unstable, madly desired, and awry,
In an osmosis of imagined consummation.
We are beauty in its ugliest truth.

Eventually, we dissipate, disgusted from transformation,
And I scuttle up the wall, a brown recluse,
And the brunetteblonderedheadsilkskinned keep their cosmosis,
Walking as a ball of arms and legs on six foot-tall toothpicks to separate and reform their bars again.

Nebulize
The twinkle in your eye
Passed galaxies beyond our blazing sun
Realize
The ball you walk upon
Is suspended in a sea of nothingness
But you still exist, nonetheless

Gaze into my windows
Infinitely vast and small
The universe crescendos
My soul singing along

Immobilized
Between the atoms and the stars
The awe inspiring grandeur of the span
Seems so nice
Beneath the Milky Way scar
Reminding me of who I am and how I'm just a man

As if it were, a breath of air
My life a grain of sand
Infinity made room for me
To have and hold your hand

Will you sing with me?
Our hearts a harmony
The aurora dances in the clouds
Colors of the entire world
Our souls spilling into sound

cosmosis': martian blues
                  vs. logic bomb's
computers & microprocessors
                       (parasense remix)...

i close my eyes and
reimagine playing
the basic chords
of the trinity of blues:

D...
              A...

                          E...

with the top E-string
being tapped...

      and the A chord being
uplifted from
            the rigidity...

  and the D chord:
with an odd tapping pinky
finger...

oh i have the basics in hand...
less in the ear
to craft a replica...
other than
equivalent to a jingle-jive-
grandma-gonna-live-till-she's-90!
sort of groove...

i can play link wray's:
           rumble...
   if that's you,
toying with an unravelling of G...
   i don't know you:
well, i dough do...
      pretending to be eating
with a wooden spin on
a spoon
      using a copper fork's
worth of eye-lash daggers...
                        
and then you sit back and watch
the football...
odd... isn't it...
        black sabbath
never actually made it
into a riff category or replica...

but the technicality

of

e |--- 0 --- 0 --- 0 ---
B|--- 0 --- 0 --- 0 ---
G|--- 0 --- 0 --- 0 ---
D|--- 0 --- 3 --- 0 ---
A|--- 0 --- 0 --- 2 ---
E |---1 ---  0 --- 0 ---

       E(1)
                    D(3),
                                A(2)...

you can do you "little" smoke
on the water riffing like
marking scrap metal *******...
or you can take your time
to pause...
   and making citations
concerning a funeral pagan pyre...

and they do begin
with deep purples
                  smoke on the water riff...
or white stripes' seven nation
army...
                or... what's that other
one?
        ah!

             system of the down aerials!
almost the "same" ****
but somehow always a "different"
cover...

    no... i never exactly learned
how to play a guitar...
     but i could tune one for you...
evidently my ears didn't
actually experience a stampede of
elephants on my ear-drums...

but a classic blues
      beginning with only a beginning
an nothing else?
      
   D, A, E...

                    unlike the genesis
of black sabbath within the confines
of
                        E1, D3, A2...

that became the twang!
                 twing!
                                                    twong!

no technical terminology
welcome:
   but i'm sure you do something
twisting
     with the chord upon A
in the blues reflection...

  three cord punk is:
gasp...
                                                huh?!
punk is no genesis
of escaping the shackles of mozart!

  E?
               oh yeah, the upper E string...
something akin
            to drop-D tuning...

a grr paragraphase...
      a growl and all less inviting manifests...
            
can't exactly mistake or escape
the modern focus on beat...
              a heart away from a soul
in what's expressed by
classical music woodwinds and
delicate touches of harps,
and...

                   can we please allow
jazz an anomaly status...
to tease: a black priv. of cultural expression?
the buzz-feed buzzing fed no one
sort of attitude?
            
           jazz is a black man's
classical music...
              sooner or later it wouldn't
matter with rap-quasi-apology...
          funky boy has
     as an "albino" narrator working
against him...
           you get my drift?

        coltraine is a beethoven...
          and i actually can't work
within the mind of a beethoven thinking,
or not thinking, about a future...

       i get it: applause for the stalemate!
we gonna see the leaning tower of
Pisa any time soon...
   or just a ******* baobab tree?!
   i'd settle for a bonsai if you
only allowed me to squint my eyes
while smoking marijuana!

   and yes! i would have told you
that i've seen a tiger passing my vicinity...
having only, in your eyes,
only chanced a cat!

music has never experienced
   "too many" letter encodings...
               there are 26 in an english intellect,
composed, such, that there be
a "concern" for a silent mind...

            give me... e, E, A, B, G, D:
hey presto! a... lullaby!
               and this integration of and
a differentiation of letters is...
stable ground to take simple pleasures from?

D, A, E: that's a chord progression
of blues...

       i can't replicate what Uba blues
looks like using only A & E strings...
     but E1, D3, A2 is a black sabbath
genesis...

             don't have the whizz-kid
fingers to tell you more,
or ambition to entertain
      a reproductive opposite-artefact...

so...
  
                    what is distubring is
that when s. beckett cited likewise...
    i was the one completely ignorant
of music representation
   in the encoding frame without
a need for public disclousure...

          salon intellect? is that what
                      you might have called them?
             no smarter than you:
just more stupid to have achieved
a way to confiscate
                  such...                         disclosures;
uninhibited types...
                    almost akin to
a day: and no typo?
                                            a day wasted.

the 21st century had to come
by flaying or force,
  without a video shortcrust impetus...
akin to writing...
something: worth -
if not waiting for...
    then at least something,
                                 worth, delaying -

to mind a compedium of
the sift people, who
                    care for all immediacy
an no castles in the skies
              having invested in
a delay of lost health...
esp. that of the mind...
        which:
               cannot exactly attain
creativity in degeneracy, simultaneously.