eighteen carat Gold is made the arrowhead
that I remove the leg while myself fled the mazes
ego-end ...
Guest of the Seven Seas tar
my medal is zinc or cobalt
all I have is my heart wrapped in newspaper
and a tuning fork that I found lying in the womb of my mother ...
A deserted penthouse where Freemasons meet, and I named
say I'm dead skin around a gold tooth
and the fifth element is
oil and rice again and never milk elixir
become eternal in navel cord
forever sealed meat
and the keys to the house of my childhood carried in the womb by the wind
Cyclops eye of the storm chasing me over the rooftops of the psyche
bloody knife in his neck corseted two nipples hidden
cement that dips his bread in our blood
and eats alone at a table with two plates ...
rottweilers Flowers and shit in their gardens
and no philosopher's stone pavers only symbols such as a wall
metaphysical alchemy or science useless, rib Nimrod
secret sweeps the petals of a flower gold ...
under the bed and between porn magazines
emerald table reduces philosophy to a mole on my back
not be or be through the absolute
to quench the thirst of this paste of mercury, sulfur and salt
behind Rainbow knows there is more treasure
a copper lightning rod ...
The worst thing is looking at sea and plead guilty
holy undress and be naked with wings on the floor, and have
molotov cocktail in his hand and wanting to throw it to yourself pseudo
masturbatory and despotic king without a crown out of nowhere,
that Venus de Milo locked in a house of mirrors
deformed and subject of his hands buried playing member of another statue ...
theoretical gold there, is not measured with golden bars nor lead primohermano More
and more tear gas and rubber bullets to use against me
not silence the voice that whispers from the basement of the desert
real blood covered the last thirteen layers of linen and
that behind a mask of solid gold and not Chapter 125 of the Book of the Dead Tutankhamen
incorporates reunited say a word
the name of his mother ...
Nothing like dying young
mummified viscera custody of your fine jewelry and
and then violate your grave twice and three thousand years, you forget ...
Everything seems so much to me I'm afraid ... Poor soul
their offspring born dead twice and foot rests
was killed half bad and half of malaria Kohler
nature and is now stuffed
KV62
"Vacuous Adolescence" by Jeffrey Michael Harp gallery
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