DM
153
Random Crucifixions
Obsessions, Dolls & Maniac Cameras
Hammer & Anvil Books, 2018
The Sexual Innuendos of Artificial Intelligence
“hello again,” she said
in between silhouettes pinned to obscurity
(this is their first masochistic submission
just another member of the club
this ride has become uncomfortable
it was time to remove that mask
while sitting on dynamite
(quivering
shivering)
the focus of our attraction
was hidden in windows of fluorescence
between fertile shots in the dark
there was no legal right
so please call me
stand by me and collapse
life-forces drained
the doors were left open
the gates had been left unlocked
a discussion of the analog pleasures of
sinful behavior lost beneath
currents of eyesight ended in
murmurs
just push a button to enter her private revenge fantasy network
illuminated plastic visages exhibit tongues lapping at
atmospheres poised for a rapid decline
that was where the real excitement lived
spine twisted as per their prescribed manipulations
13 unnamed dead photographers
passed out from bliss
these skagged bastards dormant in shallow graves of sand
entertained robotic fantasies that squirm slightly
filtered behavior for the general public
assassinating the man in the street
enjoy the agonies to be reported
a feast for the scandal–mongering rags
13 apostles screaming for more
this ride has become uncomfortable
a smile glimpsed briefly
remembered at least once a month
memory of a leather vest impregnated with
the signatures of the zodiac
we all fall down
follies of following her into the just arrived n train
whispers and wheezing
had bloody hands
wonder why
the grammatical tense is changing
this made a noise
but no one turned
she has eyes of red deep penetration
burning up the mist
hanging around physicians of sleaze
licking spines
caressing exposed marrow
and pumping hearts
strong AI objections to the proposition
we have killed a summer day
sister’s sister clinging to barbed wire
machines pumping
no thoughts no sound
on auto-pilot
fluctuations of desires
all mixed up
all fucked up
all fall down
ashes to ashes
it’s not over yet
you’re tired aren’t you my dear?
lead them to a polka dot pattern
a program's instruction
wetter by the second
a standard interpretation
our skin is glowing now
the stories will later pervert the details
the tabloids never get it right
we just loved each other and
didn’t really know what we were doing.
just a portrait in white chalk on a cracked
slate blackboard
the doors were left open
the gates had been left unlocked
Classification and Evolution at the Obscene Film Studio
this part creates side-tracking shots.
this scene embarrasses her.
another kind of material as she felt herself
twitching by the mirror –
her mascara running. the clocked ticked. no hands.
a ghost offered her a new perspective on dreams,
as its left hand made its way under
her black silk blouse that
was moist with her fever’s sweat.
releases of the material were reviewed at the
migraine screening room,
as a voiceover recited credits.
her eyes rolled back,
casually switching to the complex modern world.
she always carried a contempt for daylight.
she moaned as she looked it in the eye.
the trembling hands offering no pleasure.
she was immune to most emotions,
such as fear and love.
get a tempo from sight and sound,
releasing questions besides her bed.
she reached a nightmare at least once
and targeted the mirror’s sneer.
when she downed the cocktail of irritation, ennui and oxycodone,
mixed with her juices in her favorite crystal glass,
the concoction caught at the back of her throat but
she managed to swallow it down,
as the houris of the hashishins licked her clean.
she became a sleep that fabricated sensual demons.
this film contains a residue from
her previous actions – a few sins –
on a negative burned in
for a mental rehearsal.
blackness sears retinas.
she said,
“he told me ‘i can’t put up with this
any longer.’ that’s why
he left me/ i cried for awhile
then the humor of it struck me.
i /hunted him down later and
/brought him back here.
/he hates his rusty memory.”
multiple studies were done out on the balcony
of some cold variations of her imagery
of her naked torso fresh with goose bumps
bathing in a nighttime breeze.
techniques of treatment were grouped
into a series of tracking shots.
Pure Music in the Warehouse of Photograms
They took good care of the patient
until they released her into the air
floating drifting
cruising cursing NYC downtown
rising disease
clutching veins
twisting
petals of blood were added to the flow of the breeze
catalogued atrocities were but whispers of thoughts now
the vortex of the hour for sinning came
quite unexpectedly for our heroine
unsatisfied.
her cravings were equated with the lepers enjoying
their blood-drunken rage.
an abandoned new building was shuttered from the inside
you can’t take it away from her
her nails were imbedded deeply
the addiction removed their cures
replacing them with indelible faces frozen in horror
the growths became circular in nature and the
musical notes formed crowns that pierced forgotten skins
the vacuums didn’t squelch the endless noises
then she said her.
Prayers.
Then. again she
said her prayers
this time. perfectly
this time.
this time. our
time parts. of
the mind were. Gone.
in time.
brushing away the insects that controlled time.
My journey ended. Our journey started.
her hands cupped her throbbing vagina and she felt her wet clocks twitching
wrapped in a faint sketch of timid longings barely satisfied
never to be out-vamped by the fallen flesh of Liz Taylor
she painted a fresco of her fuck frenzy on the chapel ceiling
twisted
a nerve twisted cock.
twisted
faces. Bent happiness.
with much laughter
she tore off the numeric dials that
had been tattooed on her legs
you get all this for you only
tick. tick. tock.
just so your eyes can see me
no down payments
just disjointed music
just laughter no smiles
it’s all so dirty out there
not filthy arousing not like in here
not like pussies glistening in silver August moonlight
your presence is detected in me
your presence is reminiscent of our differences
your goal is to make the rusted iron shatter
in a fractured alchemy turning base metal into
a rose of acid that blossoms then
clings to forgotten tombstones
etched with graffiti epitaphs
written in the blood of Isis the original
necromancer who once
revived Osiris with her skills of the blowjob
while inspirational cadavers sing falsetto in
golden October moonlight
providing more information
about the failed experiments
we held each other closer
They had taken good care of her
until they released her into the air
drifting or floating through tubes of black coral
our petals of blood added to the flow of the breeze
a haze of belladonna for a self-portrait
(parallax view/Lizzy Mercier Descloux)
Shhh…
he was totally in love with the women who sipped blood
the vampire girls
she had the aura of International Klein Blue:
soft and cool
smooth and liquid
stretching vibrant fingers outwards
towards goals of unknown satisfaction
she had the aura of film noir:
razor sharp, fog poisoned by evil
unsteady, tense
killing vipers in the darkness
With dilated pupils, capturing her prey
reciting her prayers near the broken closets
the texture of her thoughts caressed
the telephonic telekinetic proclamations of her love
those words that she had hidden inside
the barriers of false childhood memories
blood/brain flow was blocked in a pictorial sensibility
the void reigned supreme
craving the sun to be wrapped in steel cords
at the theater where the moon lay on wet soil
to replace death and enshrine it in a frame of blood
she had seen the show many times (no need for a ticket)
her aluminum heart was teleported to other beings
to the creatures who had been her lovers
they had been transferred to a mirror’s other side
trapping polished scenes of her past affections and/or copulations
plastic keys opened the blood flow
from doors that had been dependent
on the existence of prior human beings
Codeine is synthesized from the Echo
she began humming the music from the fallen beauty of New York City
Babylon sanitized, senses dulled,
her tear ducts burned
as she stole the soil from the parents’ garden
as she made a bed for her new floral arrangements
as she lay on top, spread-eagled
ebony hair fanned out, hyper drive
pure glory: a timepiece was shattered
the unique paintings hidden under her closed eyelids,
they told her their secrets and occasional lies for comfort
Shhh…
burn the papers of the 3 madmen
leather coated in sweat
while singing at the violent eclipse like i taught you
(a rock n’ roll nurse was slaughtered on 10th avenue)
caress a throb of a remembrance enshrined in clear laminate
kiss. blend into us. kiss. the death toll climbed. kiss.
brush blackened lips against roses while petals are fingered.
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Random Crucifixions
Obsessions, Dolls & Maniac Cameras