searching for a word that begins
with the letter “h” but not without
six syllables that without any complex
pronounciations – or any: thing of a
blantant description left in the synopsis
of another hidden detail

yeah, yeah –fuck the syntax decoder
and launch the latest download of
a wordplay divx processor with enough
gigabytes to hot wire a dying page

I hold you in between my teeth

and to calm you down, my beast,

I'd rather compose romances for you

but I'd have more profit by chanting

chanting spells, witchcrafting, voodooing

to keep you asleep in my throat,

so that you can't scratch, scrape,

tear my gums 'til they bleed...




But I subdued myself,

setting my kindness in a song.

Dedicate to your primal soul.

It's made of voiceless timbers,

breakbeats of a warm swollen heart,

without tempo or cadence.

The piece is being played as I free you.

Soundlessly, I let you go...

Right. No point on mutual pain and sorrow.

by Laila Chris a.k.a. Hope Burden

If someone never said that tasting a poem
is as close as damn-it
to orchestrating an execution, then
someone should have.

Under the sound of the hornets' drone drum roll
that's keeping the beat so the tension's in time.
If you strain you can still
hear the grainy pop and sizzle
of the neon halos
sniggered to the heads
of the sweet faced idiots,
all strung out on poppy seed self-righteousness
their bleating hearts and bleeding T-shirt slogans.
Pop. Sizzle.
Sentiment flares, splutters arcs of ozone
with the slack-jawed disinterest
of some bovine tempered acne enamelled girl-
out of reach on auto-pilot,
mid masturbation, minus much imagination.

The studied insolence of their unapologetic slouching
enunciates the architecture of the slow-eyed firing squad.
Fingers succinct against flesh stained triggers
articulate the bruised and heavy-ankled whisper of
the blue eyed boys. Who decorate the brick wall
along with its blood stains and bullet holes.

And them, totally missing the point
succumb to some delicious incoherence.
Swallowing their silly causes.
Falling for their own infomercial-Rapture.
Smiling
like saints.
Shining
like martyrs.
All smirking and gloating
like suicide bombers.
Pretty,
granted, real prime time juice.

But pointless...

Long live the Lotophagi

a poem by Kerry Potgiert

i had you once
thinking about me
twice
two times the speed of
stroke,
every breath of innocence...you took
every exhale in frothy lust
seeded moments of our time in love.
aching for just one touch -
you brush up against yourself,
as smoothly as you can,
close your eyes and
imagine me there.
i become your
secondhand.

Face of the skies preside over our wonder. Fluorescent truant of heaven draw us under. Silver, circular corpse your decease infects us with unendurable ease, touching nerve-terminals to thermal icicles Coercive as coma, frail as bloom innuendoes of your inverse dawn suffuse the self; our every corpuscle become an elf. by Mina Loy

wash me out

thin me down
mix me up
until
after me
after us
after everything
nothing's left
but the charm

Oh that's right
Keep away from me

Please give me a push
Don't let me understand you

Don't realise me
Or we might tumble together
Depersonalized
Identical
Into the terrific Nirvana
Me you---you---me

If, After I Die 

by Fernando PESSOA

If, after I die, they should want to write my biography,
There's nothing simpler.
I've just two dates - of my birth, and of my death.
In between the one thing and the other all the days are
mine.

I am easy to describe.
I lived like mad.
I loved things without any sentimentality.
I never had a desire I could not fulfil, because
I never went blind.
Even hearing was to me never more than an
accompaniment of seeing.
I understood that things are real and all different from
each other;
I understood it with the eyes, never with thinking.
To understand it with thinking would be to find them
all equal.

One day I felt sleepy like a child.
I closed my eyes and slept.
And by the way, I was only Nature poet.

Translated by J.Griffin.

I've heard:"I'm counting sheep!"

Counting sheep?

Don't people count sheep when they can't sleep?

In a certain culture this expression

would work fine: "I wash my hands!"

That means - I rest my case.

I do... I really wash them now

because I can't get that.



What is happening here?

Who could understand it?

Who's making the rules?

Why is all that for?



Counting sheep?

Go count bodies

or even fetus!

Lorca said once:

"Yo veo en ti fetos de ciencias"



Muchas cosas pueden ser entendidas sobre esto

Yo veo en ti lo que yo no puedo decir

Yo veo en ti lo que yo quiero que tu seas

Yo veo en ti un hermano,

una praga, un corte de cuchillo

Yo veo en ti aquello que yo mas deseo

Pero tu traes todavia fetos de ciencia

algo que no se lo que es...

por eso, yo voy a contar carneros también.

ich verstehe nicht alles was du sagst... das Wesentliche habe ich, aber schon verstanden.
Pass auf dich auf, wir werden uns in kürze, aber nicht in eile, wieder treffen.

Ich empfinde weniger Sehnsucht, jedoch der Traum scheint war

Some poets are really good at saying about love...

I ain't that good at writing, however I will give it a try here.

Love is a damn weird feeling

Sometimes I doubt its existence

It is not visible

No one can truly reach it

It is only felt and even those who feel it cannot be sure if that is what it is supposed to be

It is uncertain and rich

It is constructive and overwhelming

It is just needed to be accepted when it is meant to be

SYMBIOSIS

 by L.C.

First of all

I?ve got to say sorry

For a I left the room

Secondly

I?d like to conclude

My last thought

We?re meant

To be connected

We?re meant to create

A fusion of aesthetics

Can?t say how

Can?t say when

Even if I could

It doesn?t really matter now

Because I can?t say it all alone

As in literature,

As in visual,

Or sound making process

The basis must be built

On hard soil

Structured with spotless walls

Independent, but co-related

Absurd and surreal,

Genial and marginal

Outrageous and magical

Post-modern after all

Clear, abstract

Nobel, symbiotic

Shocking and vicious

Serious and hilarious

Concrete and pernicious

Original and reinvented

Divine and demented

...look inside of you, you have the key!

Visit these spot as well:

http://thepawnbroker.blogspot.com

http://taxonomytherapist.blogspot.com

http://www.myspace.com/hopeburden