And in seamless sores
the burying of…
the suicide people
spoke like Ukrainian dogs.
That crucifix pistol
turns my psychedelic
into an annoying fizzle.
High musicians gurgle wows.
Zorn orchestrated the Moscow pen.
I mysteriously spunk a mantra
of these California fuzz
and wrote disparate spells.
I improvise on my twin topless hands –
they perfume me enema dead go.
Flesh path of ideas red honey.
Nationwide simulators octet,
a footman’s palm
reads the skylark processed j way.
We organically shit out cruelty.
I’m stitched to this ego jamboree.
Whipping military intelligent puss –
most women like themselves artistically.
A style crush crisis on alert
toward the quarter, towards the one
blessed she who kisses incoherent south.
Copyright © 2016 Charlie Zero the Poet
All rights Reserved.
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