stolen from you

dearest/black wire

the internet has left me

the posts have
and will be of
little frequency
low quality

for one more month
out here
stolen from you

ann steel///roberto cacciapaglia

the fire engines

parade of nations

crisma: pt 3/3

where have all the robots gone?

maximum joy

from amygdules

i

In the pick me up eternal
the strange blood flowed
through proteins of rocking solid
mineral
I found it in
grounding ducks into alley doors
in a hidden Victorian gas
unknowingly breathing it in

she was years of sand
and a talk of it's form
and a shape of the ages
she was years of sand

and in it all, shedding portraits
of dying cherry tree blossoms

ii

In the pick me up eternal
I have seen your son
I've seen you in
red lamp light on glass
tea staining my tongue so black
I bled from your reflection
my eyeballs these days
cutting loose visual frustration
your attraction overwhelming
old values shorn sick
shirt down so low, breast exposed
narcissist
in bloom

iii

I've been years of sand
I've been of it's form
in the shape of my ages
I was years of sand

black tourmaline.

iv

In the pick me up eternal
love is in the earth
clock stung
timeless
through smokey quartz
I've seen your heart ageless
an hourglass
a timepiece
waiting to eat and be eaten
troubled in your patience
for the clock struck sun

p-model

brain drain

muted
spoken french digging
for a sugar high.
Emotional intelligence
of the post rave. dj
baby (where are) yu now?
compli-mints on the
bus, followed by a
burnt tongue sip of you
are so pretty, strong
brewed dollar coffee.

waiting for mel
gibson outside
the worlds market.
I syphoned my heart
through my hands and
sent it away on
route to Saint-Laurent
pvc bondage wear
romancing the pavements
along with bike blunt spoke
culture. Too fucking
cold to strike may,
your goth, your goth.
a coat mistake,
weather complaints.

billy idols breakfast
club hit on the radio.
locking into this
emotional unsure,
I could be sure this
rock was
mocking me. wiry
down to bone, bone
to under skin tribal
tattoo.

gina x

noia

faust

spoons

heart brain

holed up in 6 am dream speak.
wrapping you tightly around my wrist.
a blissed out alien filling in my body
in which there is something so sure
to miss. eating in eyes of constant longing
in time, you and I are matter
clock struck molecules
seconds curl into you. minutes last.
never would I have been able to mix this art and craft
pulling out of us. pulling blankets around
the underwhelmed bed
you have me.
heading east with the mid body
living rib cage xylophone
empty air kicks at the growing
crack laceration on my heart
this novelty pencil is digging the depths of me
single week passing with lost sight of light and shadow
a seven day descent crescendo
where words fall sluggishly
into bucket end.
a sonic curse of the calender
marking rapture,
to measure a heinous break of ritual.
you and I, in time.

the electronic visualization lab: pt 2/2