"fridgerator" poems
The burrito came outta the fridge
armed with shards from it's plate
trying to slice up my throat
good food, that's no longer great
The tomatoes decided to join the revolt
squirting acid into my eyes
I scrambled for the kitchen knives
hoping, if I stabbed them, they'd finally die
That week old Chinese a mistake
the noodles fungal and ripe
gotten from a shady out take
yes, a bad stereotype
I've feared for my skin before
as life is dangerous too
but opening my fridgerator's door
my food turning obnoxious, and blue
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 8:34 AM UTC
Exploring what sits at the heart
of the abstract acidic junkyard I've got.
Hallucinating gases produce a wild story
that starts off walking
in search of a new wrinkle.
*You think you're angry inside?*
half-speed heart-murmur salvation
knows how to have a micro-attack
on a super duper level.
you don't see skies or trees
I am so used to the liquid electronic desert,
the second the doors open
I get higher when i get inside.
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 2:48 PM UTC
Warm headlights cut through the muggy latenite
of the strange wet dream.
All the anger, frustration and pain
shift to
primitive energy (skin tight and mad doper than smack).
does it get surreal?
The desire for an invasion of your body is like a suspicion
overloading the ocean of ones and zeros.
the reservoir is full again.
planetary evolution is merely a diversion.
Look, mommy, there is an airplane in the sky.
pleasure
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 2:40 PM UTC