Posts Tagged ‘face’

images-7

As bent as a coat-hanger poking out a cone

As twisted as leprosy wrecking vital limbs

As loaded as a road-train barrelling down a deserted highway

As wasted as a wastrel in the universal gutter

As beaten as a homeless person on a cold night

As frozen as welcome as an icy-pole in summer

As hungry as cancer devouring the body

As hurtful as a punch in the face

As piercing as bone through flesh

As miserable as a lonely fat person

As dense as paranoia in sleepless nights

As frigid as fear of dying of fright

As useless as a broken phone

To you

metallic

Steel soul rusting

Copper asshole sucks and blows

Clank and crank like an ancient train

Robotic rot

Metallic plate cancer

Metastasizes

Into corrupt and delusional alloys

All over the place and in your face

A paranoid work-droid

Buzzing and whirring a rich vein

Like a spinning top

Flipped out and loaded

Rusty and corroded

Never quite achieving togetherness

Shattering into scrap

Getting into crap

dali

What measure for my madness?

What succour for my pain?

No desire in my body

And the suffering starts again

 

How to reach out to the other

How to embrace my pain with love

I don’t find any answers

Falling down from God above

 

When we meet the end of all

When our turkey’s chopped

Will it be like a kick in the balls

Hoping it won’t hurt a lot

 

What purpose in my sentience?

What reason in my race?

Why don’t you take me seriously?

Is it ‘cos I’m off my face?

 

Trio

Posted: October 13, 2017 in poetry
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iggy

The holy trio of Iggy, Bowie and Reed

Now just Iggy

But Iggy just keeps on going

Causing trouble in a spectacular manner

Just imagine Iggy at the Big Day Out

Iggy swings the microphone around his head

Then it hits him the face

Then he says

‘Let’s fuck this shit up’

And starts pulling down the curtains around the stage

So let us fuck shit up

Just like Iggy

Every day

As everything is fucked anyway

Let us try to fuck it further and deeper

 

 

beast

Write on me what you will

Project your delusions all over my silly face

Tattoo cryptic letters on my body

Story me, stereotype me

Classify me, pattern me

Codify me, categorize me

Garrot me, perforate me

While centrelink waits to crunch my bones

Like the beast rising from the sea in the apocalypse

Soon I will feel it’s fangs in my flesh

Not what they do

Posted: January 31, 2017 in poetry
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my_jackson_pollock_painting_by_amau41200-d4vjeut

Watch what people say

Not what they do

Don’t listen when they say you’re wonderful

Blowing smoke up your ass

Don’t get ripped off

Don’t get conned

When a guy with tattoos on his face says he can get a stick around the corner

Don’t give him money

Don’t be a chicken dinner

Don’t be a victim

Hold your head high to encourage respect

Don’t be a mark

Don’t be a chump

Pick yourself out of the gutter and stare at the stars

So that you may know in your heart you are here for a reason

sx_dolls_10

Sex bot my sexpot

Oh let me die in your mechanical embrace

Feeling your suction and vibration

Sex bot my sexpot

I wasn’t sure if I should get you to look like Scarlett Johansen or Winona Ryder

But I’m glad I chose Sylvia Plath

Sex bot my sexpot

I love to turn you on if you know what I mean

Let us kiss then make electronic love

Sex bot my sexpot

You have settings for vanilla and kinky

Naughty spanky fun for you and me

Sex bot my sexpot

I don’t need to have social skills to get you into bed

You don’t care about my vast vortex of desperation

 

John Berryman

He made it all up
False malady – told with a poker face
Staying at home and watching TV
Counting the leather pelican winds
Making obstacles out of dust-motes
Letting his neurons short circuit

Grieving Henry was drunk
‘Wasted again’ Mr Bones
Spirit fades like a camera flash
Hope falls into the abyss
Life holds Henry in a fist
Squeezing out residual rebellion

Clench, clench, spit
Like orange juice
Or blood on sheets
At night when silence descends like mist
He remembers
How blessed are the dead

clowncorpse

Corpse of a clown
Face without eyes
Deadweight diatribe against earth magic
Maudlin musing about nocturnal naughtiness
Dead grey foetus in a rubbish bin
Dead eyed optimism
Dead eyed consumerism
Corpse of a chorus girl
Makeup blurred, legs spread
Paranoia, Paranoia
Meanwhile many at the old folks home are
Entranced by the possibility of a quiet death
A quick death
Sacrificial mechanisms confound and confuse
And Paranoia seeps in
Encrusted with schadenfreude
Beaten to a spaghetti consistency
Squeezed through skull
Aching for cold lips
Of death kiss
Corpse of Marilyn Monroe
Necrophilia
Paranoia, Paranoia
Eyeball sliced like an egg
Eye-juice oozes
Poison gas pass-times eat away the soul
Napalm nightmares blaze across the cranium
Paranoia, Paranoia
Road-kill retro-action to circumvent cynicism
Squashed cat somnambulism
Body-bag of broken bones
Corpse of a junkie
Fantasy zombie collapses
Cold in a corner
Paranoia, Paranoia
Rigour mortis
Statue of the living
Physical indelible memory
Every corpse like a leaf in the wind
And a cell in the body of the grim reaper

face

Awful lawful machinery of conversation
Turn and counter turn
Speaking and the waiting
Nonverbal gestures and face expressions
All in sync and so confusing
A dance to which not all are invited
But just to live you need to communicate
We are social animals
Some of us aren’t set up for it
But we are social animals
Some of us fall asleep in empty beds
But we are social animals
Some people dream of imaginary lovers all night long
As we are social animals
Some cry themselves to sleep each night
As we are social animals

And when the moment comes
A pretty woman smiles at you
You’re at a loss for what to do
Your boring nice-guy bullshit doesn’t cut it
Your recitation of your tedious life and mundane hobbies sink into dust
Your questions are deflected or irrelevant
You cannot do the conversational dance of flirting
And some honey-tongued Lothario will swoop in
And take her away