Wolfgang Plucks out his Symphony Madness


He sits malaise

his madness,
a psychiatry home
of muttering concerto.

219 saints engraved sonata.

Sir Wolfgang basso –
blizzard his pinnacle hive.
Your apocalypse glossy,
symphonies tender
the evening pluck pelisse.

The techno corpus –
prefixed the imitation anthology.
Code vex 618537 –
thus unconventionally speaking.

We call it Odin’s method.
We aimlessly want dementia to wink.

Cavalier piano man…
skims through ribbed irrational.

I should be committed ecclesiastic.
However, comorbidity seems complacent.
The concomitant epilators
feed the requiem danger –
pieces of you move like riddles.
So what are you waiting for unlock my clue.

 

 

Copyright © 2016 Charlie Zero the Poet

All rights Reserved.

No part of Wolfgang Plucks out his Symphony Madness – 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 blog’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 the Poet and his poetry works with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Concescastors Slurped Off Decayed Sounds (A Collaboration with Nathalie Purpleanais and I)


I kissed a ghost –

its lips take me to a sensual disillusionment,
brought on by a textured touch papier-mâché –
exacerbated by a beached whale
who whispers weird tales in my ear
as I am sipping on my beer.

Concescastors summoned Babylon.
The subgenius behemoth
unshackles all the deluded minds
that hit the asylum walls.

Bleeding thoughts! Said the salamander surgeons –
Who discovered a vile tantric;
slithering around the world
& against the mint galactic blues.

Unholy communion—
cerebral abrasions—

A broken compass needle swinging back and forth –
sanity catatonic, insanity seducing north.

Decopygmenes slurp evidence off a decayed dictionary.
The words plea for help!
The words laugh soundly!

I’m sitting underneath the lemon tree
where Aristophanes contemplates
and studies the honey bees
unconsciously touching the crease in his sleeve.

They beg to slip in the shoe void Amsterdam.
Was the mirror not stretching integrity
enough to fall on its own compassion?

Certainly, Van Gogh penniless and in despair –
tried to drown himself in the deep sunflower fields
which had long haunted his dreams –
Too bad though, the dreadful diamonds called out his bluff.

 

 

Copyright © 2016 Charlie Zero the Poet & Nathalie Purpleanais

All rights Reserved.

No part of Concescastors Slurped off Decayed Sounds – 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 blog’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 Nathalie Purpleanais works with appropriate and specific direction to the original content

 

I’ve had the most honor and pleasure to have collaborated with Nathalie Purpleanais. She’s an incredible writer, brilliant mind, and intellectually creative.  Please visit her page – her work is a must read and very important. 

https://arwenaragornstar.com/

Thank you Nathalie. 🙂

 

 

 

Her Tongue Forms Gills in Testaments


A sound injured moth

cries out for the monk.
Socrates stands tall –
mimicking the taming print.

Her tech talk drivels,
malfunctioning beside
your vomitorium sheets.

Her tongue forms gills in testaments.

Vera soma
objectifies your disproportion text.
Happiness feels nauseous.
It spews depressed introverts.

Joy grows frail –
its foul odor covered in emails
and marked phrases.

The M loops rumbling –
papilla bumps interrupting –

The cheek man –
drinks from the remnant diverticulum,
Peshitta
give me your apologetic buttons.
Freudian artificial – blinds the 2nd exile –
Jerusalem opens her legs wide,
pierce this pain in your v-shaped instinct.

 

 

Copyright © 2016 Charlie Zero the Poet

All rights Reserved.

No part of Her Tongue Forms Gills in Testaments – 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 blog’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 the Poet and his poetry works with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.