Some Poems on Flesh, Soundbites and Snow
Conceptual Vomit (insp. by Mac Low Poems)
Plushroom dust bunny snooze,
Oneiric geometrical bastardry,
Cavernous fractal refractions,
Glass fragment slash wound
Sniffling adolescent icebox nights,
Rainy-day distrust of the shrubbery,
Crackling carapaces, tea spirals,
Heavenly paper skin angels
Gastropod effluvium coral hedge-maze,
Plankton dinery, sepia frowns,
Fulcrum amnesia, industrial rust
Teardrop pitter-patter puddles
Radiant tulips, glinting tendrils,
Vomiting verdure, fragrant curlicues,
Gaseous cloudburst leaping sands,
Plaid and paisley storybook land
Crust of suffering, glazing opals,
Dire ire, ubiquitous lugubrious tenebrum,
Popping butterpan, garlic human-cubes,
Cackling cacophony of diadem diaphony
Twilight milk, frigid teeth,
Sunbeam rodents, snivelling lizards,
Myopic haptic nervous steel,
Refreshment counter fizzling feels
Elegy of a Rotting Corpse (cw: gross)
Your oozing pus is yellow as the sun,
Whose eyes as red and dry as glass of wine,
And shredded skin confetti when undone.
And drooling severed lips are flaky fine;
The way your veins, like dolphins, leap for air,
Aroma codified by mold and puke,
the knotted matted tussock clumps of hair,
Whose pinecone, piecemeal smile I won’t rebuke.
Your visible intestines make me gasp,
And jewel’ry beads of sores and bruises sell,
Your fingers doth dissolve with firmer grasp,
The insects in your pores make my heart swell.
Your rotted, maggot-laden sprawl of meat
There is no better husk for me to eat!
Winter years of Winter
Snowflake-freckled hair,
Cooling moisture your scalp drinks,
Sunbeam arrows address the snow,
A gingerbread, hot chocolate memory day,
The rolling of a snowball, tearing up the smells of earth,
Paths to memories no longer clear as ice,
No tinsel or cookies, just shredded leaves on salted paths.
Ornaments surely lay nested in the snowbank
Grey dominates a pot of white paint
Tears frozen in their tubes
Warmth sucked by ravenous air
Skin subsumed by cloth
I can no longer feel the cold
I can no longer smell the cold
Soon, I will no longer see the cold
What is sticky without breeze
Or pallid without blush
The coldness of coldlessness,
When will winter leave for milk and never come again
When I’m in, balled up in silk and mint turns to cayenne
Seizing seasons by the breeze, I drink up cold ‘til sick and sneeze