deepundergroundpoetry.com
Final Score
I long to track light fear
But something's in the trenches
Heavier than the stenches
Of sticky blood smear.
The mere mention and all I hear
Is a ringing in my ears.
Some dear mon cher, it's clear
Meets her ancestral procession tonight.
After a vessel projection in my sight?
I fight but despite the best of my protection
She's uncreation's reflection.
I fucking hate it when murder blesses its interjections
Into poetic discussion
Instead of simply crushing
Opponents skulls in.
Slay to win
Until lesser predators stay in,
Only sinning within,
Growing weaker and then,
Meeting the Reaper spent...
Early like Confederate tin,
Bent to curlies like smoke streams at their rim.
Killing keeps you thin.
Adverse to my whims
A mystery worse than my pen
Is right near, with sight unclear.
Illumination self-blinding
Like the over-information
In Plato's Great Escape mine scene
Minus Steve McQueen.
"Stop replacing the text,
You're riffing time and space frets
Like the late space cadet
From the Grateful Dead.
Skip the talented tip of the wit text,
Get to what's next!"
Fuck allegorical humiliation
All the more for introspective invasion.
Even the score or change the station.
Ooooooh... fear tracking's back on!
Vision still gone.
Enemy unknown blown that one.
Listening for thickening voices of terror,
Sickening choices, riveting inches from error.
Whosoever Hunts Monsters, too close to compare,
No room to share what isn't there.
Not tonight mon cher,
You're my only vice that's ever been right,
The one price I can't spare.
I'd sooner post you on the Dark Side of the Moon,
Guarded by Victor Doom, safer for you there.
Too close to home this unknown scare.
Still deaf with the ringing
But the tingling in my ears
Tells me I'm near
While reliance in the science
Of any sense keeps making it disappear!
Fuck that for flack!
If Fear's source prime
Has a mind off the track
Like CalvinBall on crack?
We can play like that!
Watterson wasn't the only whack
Who talked smack in sonnets
To expel demons of reason
Screaming mental vomit.
I'm on it strong
Twice as wrong off the track.
Trimming a vellum map
'Til it talks back
Like the bleat from the spirit of the sheep
Exposed complete
Even the undead fall into my beat!
My crusading pages are black and white and red all over.
Like a burlap sack of pandas,
Biting your head off the shoulders,
Leaving your legacy bare!
My songs attack to dare
Like an insomniac's nightmare.
Wherever wrong is at
Like a mom on crack I'm right there!
"Stop replacing the text,
You're riffing time and space frets
Like the late space cadet
From the Grateful Dead.
Skip the talented tip of the wit text,
Get to what's next!"
A maze of interconnected prospective playthings
Splintering at the nexus from rage.
Infectious plague traded for protective prayers.
Slay your babies across the page
'Til it burns blank
Like how Tiananmen Square turned
After Sherman tanks.
But malice in memory banks
Returns like Alice to Wonderland.
Checking in on a promise,
Onus abated after fictional creation's reclamation.
The heckling of subconscious created
Fates of imagination
Spurns for prospective station
Like Schroedinger's nullifying science's defiance
At the Nth generation.
So what the Hell's coming back for me?
Touch, taste and smell picking up slack
By exponential degrees.
Such a waste of potential in three
(In case you didn't catch iconoclastic threats for free.)
A classic re-shaping for escapism,
Erasing rakish coquettes,
Faceless vets, hopeful corrected convicts.
Appetites whetted of royalty's ravenous pets,
Erasing names and faces they digest!
"Stop replacing the text,
You're riffing time and space frets
Like the late space cadet
From the Grateful Dead.
Skip the talented tip of the wit text,
Get to what's next!"
A step I touch,
Mon cher's breath escapes,
I taste like her body rush,
Heatwave push
Taking too much.
Bloodrush.
Fear swells.
This I smell.
Slack for three so what the Hell's coming back for me?
Shit that can tell I wasn't bragging in the breeze
About 3's hanging from trees earlier in this nursery.
ConTENT that dragon-wit blurs
It's hardly the worst of me.
CONtent past my own consent
Like pumping chronic
Through the air vents of a convent.
Same common sense consequence:
Repression comes alive.
Obsession runs past discussion to strive.
Lessons from demons of less coherent creators drive
Less cohesive pride
To undress before rising tide,
Naked nuns no longer fighting what's inside.
So I'm exposed in mental nudity.
My prose in spiritual fluidity
Flows with eventual agility
Past preventative captivity.
It knows all of we, but grows in some of us.
Shows when turning to rust
That streaming water chatters,
Vibrating all it scatters,
Remaking walls shattered.
Lost creations swallowed into dark matter,
Escaping like the Mad Hatter.
Empty space won't keep a gaze to my face
Or find my soul to swallow whole!
Set me before the gallows pole and watch me create.
I'll fill my sandy space
Like land was my pallet in a palace of grace.
Dark matter won't find me to shatter,
Writing ahead of my mind's own splatter.
My mind takes a ride.
I wake and rise,
Unsurprised to have survived 'til sunrise.
Just luck for Loki of Literati...
Holy fuck I'm floating, where's my body?!
But something's in the trenches
Heavier than the stenches
Of sticky blood smear.
The mere mention and all I hear
Is a ringing in my ears.
Some dear mon cher, it's clear
Meets her ancestral procession tonight.
After a vessel projection in my sight?
I fight but despite the best of my protection
She's uncreation's reflection.
I fucking hate it when murder blesses its interjections
Into poetic discussion
Instead of simply crushing
Opponents skulls in.
Slay to win
Until lesser predators stay in,
Only sinning within,
Growing weaker and then,
Meeting the Reaper spent...
Early like Confederate tin,
Bent to curlies like smoke streams at their rim.
Killing keeps you thin.
Adverse to my whims
A mystery worse than my pen
Is right near, with sight unclear.
Illumination self-blinding
Like the over-information
In Plato's Great Escape mine scene
Minus Steve McQueen.
"Stop replacing the text,
You're riffing time and space frets
Like the late space cadet
From the Grateful Dead.
Skip the talented tip of the wit text,
Get to what's next!"
Fuck allegorical humiliation
All the more for introspective invasion.
Even the score or change the station.
Ooooooh... fear tracking's back on!
Vision still gone.
Enemy unknown blown that one.
Listening for thickening voices of terror,
Sickening choices, riveting inches from error.
Whosoever Hunts Monsters, too close to compare,
No room to share what isn't there.
Not tonight mon cher,
You're my only vice that's ever been right,
The one price I can't spare.
I'd sooner post you on the Dark Side of the Moon,
Guarded by Victor Doom, safer for you there.
Too close to home this unknown scare.
Still deaf with the ringing
But the tingling in my ears
Tells me I'm near
While reliance in the science
Of any sense keeps making it disappear!
Fuck that for flack!
If Fear's source prime
Has a mind off the track
Like CalvinBall on crack?
We can play like that!
Watterson wasn't the only whack
Who talked smack in sonnets
To expel demons of reason
Screaming mental vomit.
I'm on it strong
Twice as wrong off the track.
Trimming a vellum map
'Til it talks back
Like the bleat from the spirit of the sheep
Exposed complete
Even the undead fall into my beat!
My crusading pages are black and white and red all over.
Like a burlap sack of pandas,
Biting your head off the shoulders,
Leaving your legacy bare!
My songs attack to dare
Like an insomniac's nightmare.
Wherever wrong is at
Like a mom on crack I'm right there!
"Stop replacing the text,
You're riffing time and space frets
Like the late space cadet
From the Grateful Dead.
Skip the talented tip of the wit text,
Get to what's next!"
A maze of interconnected prospective playthings
Splintering at the nexus from rage.
Infectious plague traded for protective prayers.
Slay your babies across the page
'Til it burns blank
Like how Tiananmen Square turned
After Sherman tanks.
But malice in memory banks
Returns like Alice to Wonderland.
Checking in on a promise,
Onus abated after fictional creation's reclamation.
The heckling of subconscious created
Fates of imagination
Spurns for prospective station
Like Schroedinger's nullifying science's defiance
At the Nth generation.
So what the Hell's coming back for me?
Touch, taste and smell picking up slack
By exponential degrees.
Such a waste of potential in three
(In case you didn't catch iconoclastic threats for free.)
A classic re-shaping for escapism,
Erasing rakish coquettes,
Faceless vets, hopeful corrected convicts.
Appetites whetted of royalty's ravenous pets,
Erasing names and faces they digest!
"Stop replacing the text,
You're riffing time and space frets
Like the late space cadet
From the Grateful Dead.
Skip the talented tip of the wit text,
Get to what's next!"
A step I touch,
Mon cher's breath escapes,
I taste like her body rush,
Heatwave push
Taking too much.
Bloodrush.
Fear swells.
This I smell.
Slack for three so what the Hell's coming back for me?
Shit that can tell I wasn't bragging in the breeze
About 3's hanging from trees earlier in this nursery.
ConTENT that dragon-wit blurs
It's hardly the worst of me.
CONtent past my own consent
Like pumping chronic
Through the air vents of a convent.
Same common sense consequence:
Repression comes alive.
Obsession runs past discussion to strive.
Lessons from demons of less coherent creators drive
Less cohesive pride
To undress before rising tide,
Naked nuns no longer fighting what's inside.
So I'm exposed in mental nudity.
My prose in spiritual fluidity
Flows with eventual agility
Past preventative captivity.
It knows all of we, but grows in some of us.
Shows when turning to rust
That streaming water chatters,
Vibrating all it scatters,
Remaking walls shattered.
Lost creations swallowed into dark matter,
Escaping like the Mad Hatter.
Empty space won't keep a gaze to my face
Or find my soul to swallow whole!
Set me before the gallows pole and watch me create.
I'll fill my sandy space
Like land was my pallet in a palace of grace.
Dark matter won't find me to shatter,
Writing ahead of my mind's own splatter.
My mind takes a ride.
I wake and rise,
Unsurprised to have survived 'til sunrise.
Just luck for Loki of Literati...
Holy fuck I'm floating, where's my body?!
Published 27th Jun 2012
| Edited 30th Jun 2013
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 3
reading list entries 1
comments 2
reads 222
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
Anonymous
- Edited 15th May 2018 11:36am
27th Jun 2012 4:06pm
<< post removed >>
29th Jun 2012 8:18am
The horrorverse from which I write is rife with adventures to be sent on for sure. Every nightmare brightly flares back and I backtrack in backrhyme to stare into ennui... can't afford therapy and I can't get sore and despair within me, NFG to get to anomie. Alot of the meanings pop with more teeming branches once the other pieces of the 'verse are given a chance to reach the audience, but this fireburst felt like a good one to start with.
