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shots #2.7 washing-machine blues in minor white

caught a glimpse; of her from afar; through the white noise of last night's free; jazz
& vaseline rites; clad in spidersilk & dust; from nefertiti's tomb; her ferocious smile
beneath a mercury moon; like a black velvet wind blowing across the wilderness
of her naked body; cloaked by the logic of dreams [irrefutable]
we created paganistic rituals of our own; a mythology of perversion

our souls; our mind; our bodies

& they scatter like rain 'cross yr map of scars; meticulously carved; into black ivory
night after fucking restless night; jacked up high on orgasmic spasms
over-indulging on; fear & pain & blood & self loathing; & sex
the pleasure of speed down an abstract expressway inside yr skull
the hit of adrenaline that surge through yr veins exploding like an a-bomb

thoughts disintegrated into dust of angels tears

in the centre of yr brain; melting yr synapses; burning yr & the stars don't even
exist until they erupt mercilessly through galaxies of hollow eyes surrounded by
a chaotic darkness; a flicker of light in her titanium fangs a new dawn fades
on a brave new world; & we step outside in our b-day suits
to let the first rain of spring wash layers of ancient filth from our energies




Fri vers (Prosapoesi) av nicklas ekström
Läst 394 gånger
Publicerad 2010-03-23 12:49



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nicklas ekström
nicklas ekström