In the Streets

Scrotum of Death

The night smells of P.O.R.K.
A killer hangs at the crossroads.


The crossroads hang the killer.
The bang whispers.
Killers emerge from every corner
of this dark space
called thought.
A trip? At rip? Of this we cannot be sure.
But of this, we can:
a marmalade man is a marmaduke made of aspenglade poppenjulius.

And Kilroy is above all the mastermind of devial connistigulations.

McMammallus et Polonium

Distostrophy - McMammal Exposed

Meatmen Epistemologically Explained

If the maggot shrieks,
wear it,
and let the dandruff dust
the pocket town
with frosty ace holes.

The despair of the mushroom,
lacking light and luminous (sound is not vision),
pods spores of boredom.

If feces are dead statistics,
then why does your shit stink?

Onomatopoeia Poem which was Performed by a Cockroach that failed to Evade me as I ran on the Street Last Night

bap!

Notes to self

Incessant waffling issues from Flabble-lips. She has paddle-toes, and giggles at flakes from her own mind. Blibbledy-blabbledy! Chester P. Gothic pouts blackened lips at the intersection of Crackpot and Filth. Death metal and M.O.P.E rock issue from his mumbling pie-hole. Dun-dun-DUNNUKUH!

Note to self: STOP WHINE-ing. A stone is a stone. It does not play the banjo.

Manbeast Ten Times

Shrieking maggots
know the difference between
snowfall and dandruff on the remains
of a manbeast laid low in the summer heat.

"The meat tastes
divine," says the shipshank,
"but those shrieking maggots have
shirked their duties again! I'll have their
heads, those miserable little grubworms, damn them."

Dog is Still a God, Dawg

Statistics and feces are dead
composites of an ace in the hole,
mirrors of insipid vehemence.
A mushroom of despair.

"Ruffles have ridges, "
says the rigid strand of DNA,
that rides high upon the castle wall,
bucking and kicking his way
to the pleasure dome.

"Sho 'nuff," God whispers and draws
his gun like a whispering sea otter.
"It's goin' be piles a sawdust
or strands of membrane I'ma dancin' on,"
and spits out the side of his mouth.

God is still a dog and a fish and a flimsy three-way tie
in the reckless minds of human relics.
You're a dog's dog, and that's a damn good
dog to be.

Working Not Jerking

Sitting at work.
Working.
Not jerking.
Greener pastures,
Browner manures.
Chomp chomp.

God is still a dog

What is a dead body?
A statistic
or a ruffled
DNA strand castle
made of sawdust?

God is still a dog.
Can I be your dog?

Short Meditation

Vulture comes between the rose and the morning,
sipping the vaulted -
Vulture comes twixt the night and dull pasty
glow of an ashy, drunken -
A child crows and a river murmurs
essences of SHUSHU and NOMONNOMN.
A roar childs its way over valleys
most pretentious in the eyes of poets.

A cry for Polonium

Pagan Utterwise

bash
delete
template
corrode
undersc. . .
ten times
90 seconds
fluff c. danger
pain, pane, pain, payne, pagan
underscore
utherol
etherol
eternal
itherol
zither
suck
blla