- Mood:
Busy
Ahh yes so I added to the last one. The full bit is in my xanga but I can really post the seconed half (or probably really the second third or so because i do love writing in Ginsberg style) as a stand alone piece. Enjoy and toss your opinions. I think i fell into too many accidental 2 or3 word aliterations (note first line) and I may want to go back and change it, but it is all chok full of interpretation and food for thought.
The pumice people prance on the lead stone toking the sweet mist off the secular ocean of racism growing from the crests of the hydro diamonds.
This palladium jar of camera spice and spindle style charging leads to my to my toes and futily attempts to exit but is trapped in the jail of my flesh as I am, with screams of neon poignently scarring the ink of night.
Cellular sexuality in the sullen feather breeze of lurid putridity keyboarded accross the heaves to atoms of empty perfection.
Blackened vestibules of new haven carried on by the reflex of neuron neophytes taking leapes to heights they never imagined from tenor highs to bass lows of oaken rapture of escape.
Rodent excrement and paper pulp monogamy conjured to the screams of the nipple clips and barbed wire habit demanded by her control, left to simmer on the cotton adrenal gland of the new born dead man, he never had time to learn....just breathe
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