Carlight on the avenue
Nothing left, only me and you
Waitlight shines blue and green
The cold comfort of the inbetween
Advertisements
Demagug
They trumpet swatika
As if it’s damage
Nobody cares anymore
The next one is with the Stooge
Terroirs
What kind of kunt curns his beans?
Someone made him Sudanese
He was vortexed in magic
A great beautiful phantome,
an obsidian gorilla
Vain
The reason I cut myself is because I wanted something in my veins
Whether it be steel or opium
Half dream, half wish
Half hotel
Half psychiatric institution
Doctor with red beard, weird demeanor
Manic transitions from sucking Kendall Jenner
To Kubrickian carpeted disfigurement
Heightened lines in early Autumn
The illuminated paragraph of an evening
You discover me like Baudelaire
Wandering half-cut but full-cut on arms and legs
Chest caving in, catacombs of black prisms
Hard-drives chuffed, huffing and puffing
Competing with your psyche, trying to revel
In the multitude of thoughts
Dolar
It’s nice, you know?
Being able to move your legs in the morning
To not have that fizzing, brimming nerve clenching dread
In the morning
To not have to grope yourself to the point of scrotal aridity in order to extirpate the waves of black horror
In ceaseless search of grim orgasm
Your joints setting against sinew like wet concrete against bone
And then the blood-vomit
Your flat is so overpriced, small and disorientating you think you’re back in Thorncliffe
Sixteen and stoned
Sheets and carpet congealed with yesterday’s cum
Serpents and dogs swim across the river
Down to Ringsend and Grand Canal Docks
Water phantasmagoria
