A Drunken Playground

Vitriol dresses after death;

putting away ashamed anarchy,

closing the record of

our gibberish beside a drunken playground...

::erase the chalkboard::

the genius experiments into careless variance;

fostering contravention of 'absolute' arguments;

lilting the head back for half a laugh...

while I drain the effect on behalf of silent gumshoes;

searching for the culprit of the crime of consciousness;

breaking the son of Jacob,

wearing musical vestiture.

::cracking ribs with sticks and stones::

Leave these bones to bleach in the sun;

Trampling on the body,

after the firing of the gun.

[15:56|03.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Fruit of Luncheon

Back in the olden days

We wasted the fruit

of our lunches

by hurling them at breakneck speeds

against brick walls

Crisp apples were the best;

for they exploded in every direction

[13:31|03.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Death Mask of Mangled Friendship

a cheering invitation

dirty jazz in rote

for a forgotten legend

of

one-handed

red-fingered

blood-blistered

thievery of bloated

wallets

and loaded embossed

magnetic plastic

Words condense

in this

pressurized compactness

of the fine-printed

contract

signed

in invisible

jocular ink

an extract of our skin

sink

sink

::blinking the sidereal vision::

We traded mangosteen blood

for green substance death

Mixed and distorted

broken and contorted

breaking the glass of my eyes

the clock went forward

and it went back

stood still

did jumping-jacks

jammed thumbtacks into fingers

and the memory still lingers

there in trope

the death mask

of a mangled friendship

now counting leaves in an eternal sunset

for the fifth time

by way of sequence

[13:14|03.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Ode to the Stickiness

A fine evening of breathing in tasty air!

The stickiness (O, Stickiness!)

of my mouth of cotton

makes me

cozily sleepily slumber

in the hammock of your head.

Listen to the exchange;

You're fired!

What?

You heard me!

::ignites the gasoline::

I'm in the fifth fraud!

Applaud

Man of fire

Man on fire

Torch the trees

Nuke the whales of inquisition!

Nobody suspects the Cetacea!

Drifting through the hex

Ex-Federal Agents to themselves

chasing purple perpetrators

Bar none...

the iron is soul'd out

[21:25|02.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Silken Kindred

I lurk on the left hand;

A stare; a blank,

devoid of the spark;

Ark, Arc;

lightning striking

the ghost of Tesla

Silken kindred

acid burns

as a catharsis

for the dead thoughts

it churns

One Witch

sandwich

burn you [BEEP]

switch...

gamma

theta

pi

[22:45|02.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Devil's Lettuce

The effects of the burning of

the Devil's lettuce... inhaling the

smoke... it broke the foundation of

my consciousness;

A trap,

A trap door to fall into Chaos and

be lost in an incarnation of the

Chateu D'if within my own cells.

Such an adverse reaction that my

sight was opened to the hosts of

hell; and I became an open gateway

for their warmongering.

Those I afflicted still remain on

the other side of the chasm; the

rift between opposing factions.

[22:08|02.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Pickled Cynicism

I set the spikes outside the

field of my experience; casting out

nets to fish out pearls of thought,

hidden in the sewers of insanity.

The smell of the death-of-mind

brings back memories of lifetimes

long past... Trapped in the core

of consciousness; alone with the

demons of alternate identity that

dwell in every subconscious

metropolis.

I endure in a fractured

countenance; unable to reach back

and seize the source of the poison

which spices my individuality...

the memories sealed in a place I

can no longer discover.

Hence I hear flats in sharp

progression, and now the unlikely

combination of Seroquel and

caffeine put my faculty under the

avalanche of cruel cowardice; and I

take my repose in pickled cynicism.

[19:22|02.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter