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zebra Sep 2020
what a poem is supposed to be?
---
philistines mediating reality
a middle brow extravaganza
colored mousey

fancy religion

fortification
against tragedy
a war over abstractions?
---
wearing dolls cloths
made out of wood
axiomatic of surrender to the crowd
but never to the art?
---
consider that poetry
conforms to us
not the other way around
---
so much
for social constructivism
identify politics
and turning emotional hemophilia
into possession by ideology
---
the poet as flammable landscape
that no longer understands  
reality through the body
while herds of
theoretical institutionalists
and their slave company hoypaloy
adapt structures
of memory
and cant remember why
---
obsessive herds
word chopping
with tweezers
for atomized food
---
poetry
as engineering
---
tormented contortions of language
replicated ad nauseum
in search of me too formulaic
maternity wards of yackity yac
just intellectual camouflage
in the shape of servitude
---
while grieving the heroic
forgetting there's near infinite ways
to interpret the complex
pushing mechanisms of the derivative
and radical relativism
as fear kills the avantgarde
---
"there is no god
and his only son is Jesus"
zebra Aug 2020
there is a door
obscura
in my mind

a black ocean
that smears alizarin mist

between love
and the dissolute

i hear
a storm of thick whispers
a breath calling
in free fall

my malleable lover
plays voodoo poppet
carousel of lady buddhas
diagramed unholy ***** *****
with scumbag eyeballs
contort for eager ruin
an ornamental cadaver
bejeweled
in a lake of tears

give me flesh
smell my rich ****
bouquet of **** the *****
transfixed eyes of flames
******* wide
thigh spillway buttered

loving the snag
and strangle
of a silk tourniquet
watch me shunt
and glassy stare
a glittering doll shimmies
blood bauble
and flapping tongue
torrent of curving jaws
clever teeth
to tear
and lips to be torn
a cockeyed brain
drowning in
illegible consciousness
for foot slaves
in a sweat and ****
magick show

body of irresistible horror
in descending spirals
to love
in the grotto
of furies
imbued with prayers
that fill the spaces
in her throat

martyr of transfiguration
she falls as
dust falls

i depend on her

tapestry of shuddering lust
in moist air
locked behind
a blood stained door
marked no exit

this savage pageant
"Blessed be You, oh Our Lord God,
King of the universe, who allow what is forbidden"
[Mattir Issurim]
zebra Aug 2020
a mishap fudged together in a blur
by the onerous fate autonomy
a throw away girl
death addict
in a racket of echoes
fingernails
******* and spit
for relics of witchcraft
in a foot licking satanic ritual

she picked him
like a con mark
for the realization
of her shadow dream
to escape from form
in a shaking bed
spread herself wide
feeling the black sound
like musical water
to drown in
with weight
that holds immovable storms
of brazen villain's and glistening *****
who pumped her mouth like gas
for obliterations throat bashing she loved
causing the hideous end of herself
splayed straddled a ****** archaeology 
of kisses withering in an ancient pudding

razor peeled ******* blooming 
betrayed whorish curdling screams
in a deviant propulsion

glitter mucous and blood
drizzled from her lush red smeared lips
with tears of mascara 
in a ghoulish basement
an object of desire for demons 
on the ceiling

she abandons all hope
lubricated her **** and ****
opened her thighs
for a freakish novelty
of soaked vibrating machine gun tongues
for a hemorrhaging orgiastic suicide

her blade slit tongue
still undulating
and pinned it in bits 
to a **** toy 
******
for valentine's day

her love and guts like a buffet 
glamorously featured 
with photo pics
in Mademoiselle magazine
smiling cockeyed
drugged and staggering

she put a rope 
around her neck
as if in an embrace
and blew her brains 
a spiraling horror
of diabolical appeal
in a ghastly enterprise of roulette 
of pants off dance off 
scattered gauze bikini  
and a head wreath of hair 
glittered like a half-eaten pomegranate
under disco lights
https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/j5e833/your-brain-on-****-why-getting-spanked-and-tied-up-makes-you-feel-high
zebra Aug 2020
YAH
in a dark laboratory **** hospital
blood in the mouth
**** & **** thank you

bleeding milk cow
needle kissed
love enema
for a wild ***** monster in heat

***** of love

gnosis in action an anti path
fires of existence burning Sulphur

third eye bleeds light beyond existence
the left handed path

desire
the creative gone mad

after the liberation
comes the revolution of spirit
through sexualization
of the human world
a life beyond the ritualistic gesture

dissolution into the abyss
containing all
comingling the divine
and human spheres

devolutive
i consolidate my desires in her

addiction file
smoke
drink
****
die
and thank you very much

the flesh of god
"melts with the one who
creates him"
......
In a universe created by the separation of Void and Chaos you are your Flesh – העין שמאלית
....
Q.309 is the definitive rite of exit from ritual and separation; represents the code of access to metabolic energy flows that are cognitive tools.
The atomization of the rite, the rupture of the chain of being.
The ardor of prostitution (πορνεία) is intended to solicit the dynamic contraction of the Divine.
intertexted from quadrato 309
V.L.F. Laboratories.
zebra Aug 2020
distorted ***
transmuting into exaggerated realms
of bizarre emotional
and mental surrealisms
heightening to extremes
in ways
that can only be thought of 
by the rational mind
as insane

We Are Not Insane!

this is a religion 
that meditates 
on the fundamental contradiction of existence

we have chosen the pleasures of the taboo 
freedoms dictated
by the most base 
and demonically sensual nature
which remain a powerful 
liberating force 

a contemplation 
mapping our  
experience of shadow desire 
we live this violent contradiction
of excess 
to be free
of reasons agony
giving form to the formless
******* it
moving back and forth
between the centerpiece of life 
and the intersectional void  death 
where most deny
both mortality and the forbidden
Intertexted from reviews  on Georges Batatille
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