but you all want my blood, pus
and smegma

fuck you, i'm writing
children's books
and falsifying history
so that legends
will grow like
maps in the moss
and truth found
dead, ends
and means
encircle each other
and make love before
cutting eachother to ribbons
in an inner sanctum
cock fight
of futuristic proportions.

who will steal your children when i am gone?

they will wither and die indoors.

also sometimes i rap
freestyle, better than you
could imagine yet.
just hold it, hold it
cuz i'm about to come
through.

i goad, it
erode your defences

let flow and your mind explode
the past tenses

blown back
shown black
and white
both contrite.

no slack

for the right might

off track
in this dark night

and you'll taste

my mac

don't waste my 10

reasons

to give in,
you got

10

definitions for
sin.

but you only
got bout

10

seconds
left livin

i won't wait till
you're cold
before i start sivin

and i'll sell all
your gold
before i begin

redistributin
everything left
unburnt by your wrath
eveyrthing left
that is blocking my path.

Random blogs are ridiculous:
this one lady doesn't realize how
annoying the voice inside your head
would be if it was constantly nursery rhyming

sometimes about ready to
do what it says

Cuts from the Chase
A Fragmented Narrative
(the story of freestyle)

sometimes(:)
now(,)
causality is
not possible to determine;
the words (,are) the feeling,
the lines (,are) the meaning.

Content
content
to just

(.)be(.)

it truth
or
obscenity.

Like a painter first(,)
drawing
out the shadows,
re-enforcing
an outline.

Negatively repetitive poetic reversal(.)
hardly representative(;)

with no rehearsal

i detect the effect
before the(y) object;
shade before source.

A genetic defect i'm
the prefect of prophets
perfecting precog,
casting (for)
over the top and
inside out (for)
distribution of profits.

Now cold calling
vexin ya? Now?
dizzee with aztec
dyslexia?

let go
the future(.)
is now (.)
and then(.)

hazy.

Naw,
i'm just crazy.

You're gonna haf
ta wait for more

From The Academy Awarded the Feature;
(From) Programmed to proceed(ure)

Face in
hands
me
the glass pipe
t(w)o(o) broke
last winter
i sold
my guitar
is my life
really
blows
to my head
gradually
clearing
my throat
closes

her door
cracked me in
my mouth
was too dry,

like your hands were
that winter you washed dishes;
fingertips all cracked.
i said i didn't care,
but
i wouldn't let you touch me..

Dear henry would've
though
and the patterns which surround your
head and the pain
of squeezing them into your already strained
skull
bursting and becomng
expansive collapse,

and i need a drink

you wouldn't
understand tho

when you're so steep on the curve now
learning that
that there will be no more light escaping
to cast distracting shadows on the wall
looking like plateaus
and lulling you to sleep
so it all keeps rushing away from you till your selves have
made you sick
and blindly now,
(here to great surprise) so
haphazardly
stumbling
(as i always said it would
be and never believed it )
on in

a frozen kaleidoscopic image
of me

there is a depth
of sensation
that can never
be quite measured
but exists where
the lines
or the curves
or the brush off into
nothingness leaves
the
artist alone
and you staring
at his precarious perch
on a wall of time

Title of Previous Post

?title of previous post:
sssssss
(line break)
o
now it's a poem

my face hurts
yah
ssssssss tit
ches in (coloured) tissues that keep
pulling apart into
cotten candy
mouthpain
i had
some teeth removed today
because
my face
is: so-small

Baaaaahh

Sometimes I get
scared that
my creep sense
is dead on,
seeing as somehow
it keeps going off
when I’m alone

Don't Start with me

Black baby bugs.

My brain fell apart into
tiny scavenger beetles,
each carting off
their own delectable portion
of my grief.

Torrents of titillating
traumas,
torn between life
and rest:
a collaboration.

Trying to Copa
in this Crazy Cabana

ah Svet,
the way she's holding

her cigarette

and pint

the perfect lines
of a co-sin(e),
graphically.

her fingers slip on the glass
and trace sweating hips
in my mind,

the curves all congruent.

Title of series:

The Ah shite series

Ah Jane,

coccaine abstained
you can find it all funny honey;
rain in the city,
useless pain
and my pity
obtained through
crooks with money

wet/dry

hook shit cries
attack my day



at night.

I Want
to write the world;
in your name,
on your body, in

(.)your blood(.)
and my milk
weill feed
them
sweaty palm
against sweaty neck
and reasons melting
quicker than coke
in the summer on

the coffee table,

sticky on the slick
surface; dry cool only
a memory
that
i'll hold on to
ever tighter; that fireball
of slowly sublimating ice,
my anchor dissolving

into the dusk

:spooned rock:

at the base
sinking stone
wearing midnight musk