Bone Race
She took a truck to the pressapus where a rotten miracle was meditating in the frost and filth.
A wide canyon drifting in and out like the breath of a misused land.
Implications were not apparent, apart from the fact that she had something to do with the nest, and the birth and , yes, the history of promiscuity and anarchy.
Some polar stinging voice was rupturing all the pure thoughts that could be living in men. She has turned them into a wasted piece of cloth; used these men as a drop sheet for all her perversions to be spit on. Her mind spawned a plastic reproduction of the phallis she always wanted. That one that should belong to a girl in high heels on the afternoon she first touches her thighs to the humid gust.
It was up to her, to cut off the connections to her organs.
To fill up this pit with all the discard that comes off of sex.
To clutch the thick presence of Godess just as firmly as the pulse of a disintegrating fist.
No one could explain the surfaces she was creating. They wore canvas as a mask to sheild the wimsy of a wimp on wallpaper, and a moon in the teapot, rooted to nebulas dialating inconsistantly.
Some other root slashes the colour of the sky and the realistic nature of anybodies face.
Just a wild guess would lead the pressure to the victim, the victim to the mansion of precious time between. Time between the death biting on backbone. Beaten in with length and crumpled shell stretching. Stretching into the ocean dormant water. It never moves anymore. So the forces clean her out and pour from inside the vision to the visible outnumbering she was capable of. One wonderful woman. Stop on top the kinky skeleton she built out of her breast bone. It grows, so much taller than heaven. Stupifyed the voice from a colloseum. A pill spat out on the living room floor because everyone is afraid of what happens when u put it inside your body. The power, if you let it consume you, is just about as much as will kill you. She manages to stay alive. Wrappped in stomach skin from a beast we have not evolved into yet. A step ahead and painted blood red. Nothing is as pure as earth, split. The ocean and the sand on top of ignorance. She might instill fear in all who hear her sewing a word to the atmosphere, but there is nothing quite as gentle as this fundamental force of nature. She is earth split open and sky unfolding. She belongs to you and controls the variable of your consiousness. She plays games to make you choose something rotten or soemthing rich.
In her canyon, she slithers. In the blank stare you feel on your face. She has the mind that undermines you. Every word is hers. Plucked from these lips, placed on those lips. Longing to be poisoned by her gesture, her joints unlocking your legs and lubricating your new ritual, daily.
A wide canyon drifting in and out like the breath of a misused land.
Implications were not apparent, apart from the fact that she had something to do with the nest, and the birth and , yes, the history of promiscuity and anarchy.
Some polar stinging voice was rupturing all the pure thoughts that could be living in men. She has turned them into a wasted piece of cloth; used these men as a drop sheet for all her perversions to be spit on. Her mind spawned a plastic reproduction of the phallis she always wanted. That one that should belong to a girl in high heels on the afternoon she first touches her thighs to the humid gust.
It was up to her, to cut off the connections to her organs.
To fill up this pit with all the discard that comes off of sex.
To clutch the thick presence of Godess just as firmly as the pulse of a disintegrating fist.
No one could explain the surfaces she was creating. They wore canvas as a mask to sheild the wimsy of a wimp on wallpaper, and a moon in the teapot, rooted to nebulas dialating inconsistantly.
Some other root slashes the colour of the sky and the realistic nature of anybodies face.
Just a wild guess would lead the pressure to the victim, the victim to the mansion of precious time between. Time between the death biting on backbone. Beaten in with length and crumpled shell stretching. Stretching into the ocean dormant water. It never moves anymore. So the forces clean her out and pour from inside the vision to the visible outnumbering she was capable of. One wonderful woman. Stop on top the kinky skeleton she built out of her breast bone. It grows, so much taller than heaven. Stupifyed the voice from a colloseum. A pill spat out on the living room floor because everyone is afraid of what happens when u put it inside your body. The power, if you let it consume you, is just about as much as will kill you. She manages to stay alive. Wrappped in stomach skin from a beast we have not evolved into yet. A step ahead and painted blood red. Nothing is as pure as earth, split. The ocean and the sand on top of ignorance. She might instill fear in all who hear her sewing a word to the atmosphere, but there is nothing quite as gentle as this fundamental force of nature. She is earth split open and sky unfolding. She belongs to you and controls the variable of your consiousness. She plays games to make you choose something rotten or soemthing rich.
In her canyon, she slithers. In the blank stare you feel on your face. She has the mind that undermines you. Every word is hers. Plucked from these lips, placed on those lips. Longing to be poisoned by her gesture, her joints unlocking your legs and lubricating your new ritual, daily.