deepundergroundpoetry.com
Words Scribbled On The Back Pages Of A Novel While Waiting For A Train
I swallow the snake’s tail
I dine on the patterns of chaos
that emanate from each flicker
of the tongue.
Whisper death into my eyes,
dream hatred that sputters
like a dying flame;
moment of regret I incinerate you again,
again.
Light years in my eyes,
a bevy of desire outracing the sun,
a mixture of parting elements,
happiness departing my body like
plague vomited into the stars.
Strangle sprint spirit sin crush;
crumble this edifice as I am demolished
by your sultry stare.
Shred this shell,
kill these lips;
oh the wailing,
the stutter of despair in my shoes,
the crimson kite flies under stealth
of evening light.
DarkFilthyAngel bring your bare breasts
into the firelight. Tempt all that I am
with your welcoming lips. Center starlight,
follow the moon to the home in your stare,
where I shall drink your reflection in like
a starry night in whose arms I became no one,
a man without a name,
a teardrop falling through nothing at all.
I, Zephyr, Walker,
Soul Magnet, Mind Obliterator,
the black-hearted yes-man feverishly nodding his assent.
Sychophant, weakling, everyman,
unquenchable demon misfit, runner of mazes,
follower, sickly supplicant;
I create the swirl of oblivion in your pupils.
It grows as the light dims,
as knowledge beams outward.
And you collapse and I am the fusillade,
the burnt butterfly, the charred carnage,
the soul’s goo, overcooked consciousness set ablaze.
I crush it. I crush it. Unholy invasion,
glitter of night. Splash! Redirect agony and
fire my art into your oblivious sky.
The tendrils of heat build rings
around my pounding heart.
Strangle,
sprint,
spirit,
sin,
crush;
crumble this flickering
snake’s tongue edifice
demolished like being
fucked by your sultry stare,
torn into one,
released from this.
I dine on the patterns of chaos
that emanate from each flicker
of the tongue.
Whisper death into my eyes,
dream hatred that sputters
like a dying flame;
moment of regret I incinerate you again,
again.
Light years in my eyes,
a bevy of desire outracing the sun,
a mixture of parting elements,
happiness departing my body like
plague vomited into the stars.
Strangle sprint spirit sin crush;
crumble this edifice as I am demolished
by your sultry stare.
Shred this shell,
kill these lips;
oh the wailing,
the stutter of despair in my shoes,
the crimson kite flies under stealth
of evening light.
DarkFilthyAngel bring your bare breasts
into the firelight. Tempt all that I am
with your welcoming lips. Center starlight,
follow the moon to the home in your stare,
where I shall drink your reflection in like
a starry night in whose arms I became no one,
a man without a name,
a teardrop falling through nothing at all.
I, Zephyr, Walker,
Soul Magnet, Mind Obliterator,
the black-hearted yes-man feverishly nodding his assent.
Sychophant, weakling, everyman,
unquenchable demon misfit, runner of mazes,
follower, sickly supplicant;
I create the swirl of oblivion in your pupils.
It grows as the light dims,
as knowledge beams outward.
And you collapse and I am the fusillade,
the burnt butterfly, the charred carnage,
the soul’s goo, overcooked consciousness set ablaze.
I crush it. I crush it. Unholy invasion,
glitter of night. Splash! Redirect agony and
fire my art into your oblivious sky.
The tendrils of heat build rings
around my pounding heart.
Strangle,
sprint,
spirit,
sin,
crush;
crumble this flickering
snake’s tongue edifice
demolished like being
fucked by your sultry stare,
torn into one,
released from this.
Published 1st Jun 2020
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Anonymous
2nd Jun 2020 00:21am
There’s a song I love by Pixes called “Silver Snail” which is the trippiest shit in the world, but features the line “when is a snake a tail” — and that’s where this poem took me. Inside a question. A very trippy question at that.
The subtle repetition here of key phrases and lines works well for this kind of narrative. It’s almost as if you are reassuring yourself mid-poem, and to me that lends a gentle vulnerability to the write as a whole.
Yeah. I’d say one of the more intriguing things I’ve read today. Thank you for sharing.
-M
The subtle repetition here of key phrases and lines works well for this kind of narrative. It’s almost as if you are reassuring yourself mid-poem, and to me that lends a gentle vulnerability to the write as a whole.
Yeah. I’d say one of the more intriguing things I’ve read today. Thank you for sharing.
-M
2nd Jun 2020 4:10am
Interesting! Except for a little repetition, the entire poem was written all at once in a furious eruption of emotion, as the title says. Sometimes writing is more like a trance for me, as the emotion takes control. Free will or not? - I was just watching a World Science festival talk on the neuroscience. A great deal of my writing is stream-of-consciousness, though I certainly am obsessive about the attempting to perfect the form and rhythm. Perhaps Frank Black can relate. ;)
