Antenna Guts Missing the Iron Pubic

The pyramid inveighed.

The hallucination sconce,
the pharaohs block arbitrary –
pull out the defeated parallel world.

Depression intoxicates
your laced orb.
Fidelity develops by exploded monopoly.
Untrammeled voidness,
slowly repeated missing,
you look like a turned ripped feature.

Antenna guts;
trashed by the iron pubic.
The evil me tore the glitch thereof.
A canopy erection,
a flambeau paralysis,

The voyage punctuation
composed of rheum beings.
Above you
tongues commit humility.
A flappy neurological citrus –
direct voice-over congregation
of poised disruptor whim,

Corn chasms
fuck through the goddess power.
We belong to the self-annoyed nausea.



Copyright ยฉ 2016 Charlie Zero the Poet


All rights Reserved.


No part of Antenna Guts Missing the Iron Pubic โ€“ may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means: electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blogโ€™s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Charlie Zero and his poetry works with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.



39 thoughts on “Antenna Guts Missing the Iron Pubic

    1. This poem is a ‘Cut-Up’ poem. Meaning I experimented with text, words, & imagery.

      I took my old poems and cut articles from newspapers and put them in a hat, mixed them around.
      And then I pulled out all the text at random, after I rearrange them and boom! This poem was born. I added my own voice to add my of my own style and change up of things.

      Here’s a video explaining more easily of what cut ups do.

      Let me know what you think.

      1. That’s fun. Surprisingly so. I always thought bricholage was for shitty writers who can’t think on their own, but I would never have guessed this was ‘cut-up’.

      2. Also it’s completely fitting to have a William s. Burroughs link because every time I read your pieces I think of Naked Lunch and the kind of sub-conscious poetry Burroughs would’ve written if he’d grown up on the digital electron networks.

    1. โ€œIf you hear a voice within you say โ€˜you cannot paint,โ€™ then by all means paint and that voice will be silenced.โ€ ~Vincent Van Gogh

      The best thing about experimentation is directing it yourself as a filmmaker and picturing every sequence come to life. Cinema for the masses.

  1. The last line. Sums up this disenfranchised plastic population so perfectly. I’ve decided you are to poetry as the surrealist were to art. Visionary soul.

    1. To answer your question.

      The poem itself has meaning & it doesn’t at the same time.
      I used my old poems and used newspaper articles, cut up the text,
      threw them in a hat, I shake the hat and then one by one, I start picking out the text sentences at random. To me it gives poetry the relationship to the writer a sense of spontaneity.

      It could have meaning to the reader of how you want to picture it, or not picturing anything at all, and just let the poem speak for itself.

      Remember poetry has no rules, sometimes it doesn’t have to mean anything. It’s just part of what being a writer is all about. ๐Ÿ™‚ ๐Ÿ™‚

      I hope this helped. ๐Ÿ™‚

  2. Ohh, I notice some verses from other creations here Charlie! I really like what your mind can do! A wonderful mosaic of thoughts and feelings!

  3. Charlie, I love what you’ve done here and the experimental process to create this effort, wonderful. For me the last two lines sum it up perfectly,

    “fuck through the goddess power.
    We belong to the self-annoyed nausea.”

    How very true! What appears as random word groups, actually reveals great clarity, offering up the “big picture” commentary. Please enjoy the rest of your day, take good care. ~ Mia

  4. In whatever parallel world, I am eroticized! It’s probably due to long hours of work & going to camera stress, that I really spin this way on your rhyme.

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