Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Cs Source Launch -veryhigh

The pornstars and El Niño Time

carnivorous plant in the flesh is born and takes root in the bone
are certain your nipples and your navel and
piercing your tongue and your seven seas silicone
are as certain as these precious stones are not saying they were arrowheads.
Your clitoris is a dead rat choked intersection
and your belly a skylight that gives the carpet that I
spotted me and all the men chasing
Cleopatra centuries out of date on your face.
I invite you to my seventh ground for my language is key to the padlock
always open and we get together and alone at Passarella is in the valley of your breasts
dunes of stale bread soaked in boiling milk
and that Christ will paint the toenails because you confused with Magdalena
because it looks like all seek:
comfort.
And I want only one outbreak of you to bathe in semen, to spit in his mouth
to take it by the throat and choke him play,
and I do not distinguish yourself, not knowing what color your eyes
but I get ...
flooded I guess my sex or any
naked as the flowers trampled as cockroaches
looking for your clothes on the floor and your voice in the cry
onomatopoeia of the fire, moan of the logs, different
cry of fear
axes but only find the front of the murderer beat
fleeing the scene of the crime, the body of another ...
Carnivorous plant, soil in your pot tastes like sweat and saliva,
that land was transplanted from the dead tree that I
where now there is a gap on the half-hidden roots poke my
dazzled by the moonlight at dawn
milk and cry, cry and cling and clench their fists who
empty as if absent for a treasure buried in the ground of our hands
but it's just a desperate act of a narcissist who lost his face in the sea
we looked at the shore and watched the waves had not only reflect but the whole
to hide like a dog with bone
perhaps take it to you because I am more yours than mine
because you're the world and I an apple core and confinement
seeds and nothing else,
you have an anchor in the center of the horizon
an anchor that burns like a fire-and-white black. Let
heating the kettle and the oceans
child to rest and not crying tears flood
then gets up and looks at you and masturbates
and its fruit are waves of yards and yards
foam and salt will be everywhere
the smell will be impossible as your thighs are impossible
Lela Star, Rachel Foxxx, Angel Dark
and what to give more names if they are all the same
rack of Cain scattered
spotted entangled in a towel
semen and blood of all
men
"Reality is an Invention - Balthus" by Joel Peter Witkin
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