[OF RINGWORMS AND VANITY:]
March 17, 2004, 18:25

{dawn}
salt was the spice of dawn.
the sawed off girl hands gave way to old fashioned bad news.
The red barren was sailing over salvation city,
slapping all the mouths off the billboards and 
selling them back for twice the price.

“a man is not a man unless he thinks he’s a man
but a woman’s dealt nothing but pain”
the music was reporting that the dead were still molding
but the living were still fearing the weather
which is better?

No, but yes to the hysterical theme
Eating the bullets and the gears of machines
Yes, but no to the pockets trafficking themselves
Each drape looked; limping sweet/sour pock marks,
Being swallowed by the cousins of matchstick men.

The sister with the pheramone flyeyes took safety in the promises
Overheard by the gasoline tiger tamers,
Whose daughters wanted bail for their brides who were jailed
As the Braille thanked the Morse code for waiting.

(BELOW the secret sidebar, the ringworm was sifting. 
Grinning insidious; guilty as sin. Still lingering in droplets of sweat)

The sea became gritty from the plaster and wilting
Because tasting that city gravy is a lot like country shaving
Nervous, impatient, walking on eggshells
Plucking the last of her eyelids. 
Draped in the flavor of her tears.

Fading back traders until the trustees knit nooses: 
The blues of the oceans the lights of the city
The tape worms and the bandits,
The stomachs and the ballots,
The tongues and discounts,
The bleeding makeup and the ringworms.

Are late. 

I can’t always spot the lips of liar…but I can always smell a rat…

{midday}
The ringworm licks the handshake, rolling the very smell of trust.
And the various lungfish erupt from the secret sidebars and coat the sky like black tar tea. 
The vanity of life was at our fingertips.
But the obelisks of the ringworm monarchy have been rebuilt behind sleeping promises. 
His pulsating poison devotion of suntan lotion has drooled from the white glowing hearts of pheramone.
And alas, the saint has become sick from a sickle cell supplement.
The hands around throat has made her ill and naïve.
The double doors of her scar garden open with a charming password.
The ten trusting bruises of her legs help her understand that the footprints on her face are not the price for friendship, and that heart on her sleeve has become nothing more than a filthy doormat.

The news of such hardships grips me to the very core.
Screaming vomit and tears became the soup de jour as the Hi-Fi (when I say I’m in love you best believe I’m in love: L-U-V) Internationale was used as the center of misdirected torment and the vessel for broken hearts. 
I contact Karma control about the close call.
KARMA: “the alabaster neck and blue marble eyes have been defaced for the last time. The ringworm’s tab has grown like a Texan tumor; it is time to settle the score: send out the cats to feed him to the pedes’…”

{sundown}
The Cats account for the rivals while spinning mucus-tar yarn and take care in capturing a circular sex offender.
They charge in a low lung hum; duties dealt in punishment; 
Against the guardianship of backwards lovers.
Except the cats keep the chains for the shacklers; the bait of the tacklers.
The black tar moss paths lead the way, into the hot blood of revenge; 
manufacture the breeze in a moment of spring
procure the venom into the smiling gums of The Beauty Queen of Denmark.

The parasites of obligation, the inverted love intervention: 
The Cats keep tearing samples for safekeeping:
Plucking the nude decoys like bunches of daisies, 
This cartel of whining wounds corrode into the white hot panic sunlight.
Sculpting day into abomination, 
The cats droll in Anathema: 

Company loves Animosity
The odors of odium, pain, rancor
The repugnance, the repulsion under the hot black tar
Diamond mines of affection and resentment, 
(The revenge is stepping off of the curb)
In revulsion, in revelations
The scorn shudder in the spite and choke on the varicose venom rain
As cigarettes from heaven drown in ambient light and television glow.

{IMAGE REMOVED by UbuZip}

(Meanwhile…)

As the chains deform into sweltering heat, the doppelgangers convert their pubic bones into a hot town conglomerate corporation.
The tapeworm crew were crowding around the last of the gastro-intestinal gang, 
Grouping their saliva into patchwork quilts of red red red withering bouquets.
The plastic mouth institution, the nostalgia mob,
Keep riding the monopoly of monotony and simple doublecrossers.
Organization of spoiled secretion 
The ringworm irons his outfit of sweat stains and projectile vomit suave
And sips his black lung of pooled saliva and chloroform syndication.
“Defiling every fawn, deceiving from her every dawn 
Gets so easy…”
And we all scream the beat through the widowmaker.
As the accused mindlessly hump through innocence and fragrance.
The chimes awake, devouring:
“divorces head from heart,
starves the lust from love,
and blames the blood for the heartbreak”

{dusk}
the red carpet assurance and certainty laid in the gates of the west.
Far beyond my memories of oceanic cervitude,
I guided the Hi-Fi Internationale with confidence, 
For conviction’s pollen was strewn in the credence, 
And the escape from dependence were highways of skin.

The Expectation Tax was slapped on our guts and faith as salt water sand, 
Hoping that chemicals will pick out the positive, 
Reliance of the cure on the horizon line was a cream colored dream, 
Cue the shockwaves under the stalking surrender, 
For the roads under water divided eternity from forever.

Oceana had faded in the sunlight over the years.
The cliffs were still walkable and the mansions still flamable
But the familiarity of shallow dives and fishing lines warmed my old guts.
She’s the cat that leaves you strangling in the undertoe
She’s practiced voodoo with her mirror wink reflections
Wearing the mink of sea foam: the toungue of sea glass.
A collection of gypsy moth jags
And jewels from the ringworm’s parlor
The tricks of the blood sucking ticks made the pains of the pose
(Blush bouquets in rose) 
(The Barren sails across the Oceana sky)
(He plunges into the hot milk bath to french kiss the sea snakes)
(he fondles with the black of plaid to play it’s yellow like a harp)
(he sings with a croon and whispers music into collage muses)
“ When lipstick dallied with Anne IV, the world stood up and took notice. 
So Denmark's super-svelte beauty queen decided that a day with Vienna might help polish her already shimmering career. The two cruised up to the Hotel O’Hara in North Oceana, took the elevator to her apartment, rang the bell, and waited.”

That is where the day ended, the ocean salts took their place in periphery
And the vast blanketing paranoia of these reoccurring themes
Have been keeping me thankful, 
Wearing women’s skin/scales. 
The cuffs of a rational. 

{twilight}
shooting one blank after another
with the eyelids of the hot and cold.

Deflowering one love after another
Into the widowmaker wishing well.

Wasting one kiss after another
Into the lips of electric love.

Who’s your electric lover?

[END VIENNAGRAM:]