Byran, sage of the Jingle Jungle

Perception : Mission Build together clay and particles of fine candy Touch together fingers to the day that elongations of the skull become handy Death and cremation : Growing between sidewalk cracks, flowers.

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

Luck, but NO COFFEE.

Frat Boy

Lime and breakbeat
shudder,
butter,
gun.

Words to blend his drink to
metered whiskey fun

Holy fucking mob-queen
fiery liquid squat
crash, crecendo, mission-bleak
I am what you're not

Go off and party, motherfool
Gamma Theta Rho
When pencil-pushers hit the stacks
you'll be feeling up some ho

BUT on the streets and in the lake
a band plays round the clock
banished there 'cuz thrumming rhythm
sends shockwaves down the block

DRUMS and BASS
BASS and FIRE
liquid,
mortal,
make.

"Come one step nearer and I swear -
Your face is going to break."

•¶•

TRIP to 5206 A

a bitter draught
nine-pin and tap
sweet pine resin
"nearly broke my back"

hang tight, but loosen.
captain's fitful jack:
earwood
wormwort
tenfold scraping hack...

mist over jungle mountain
spearpoint buried deep
rusted chain coiled to wake but left behind to sleep

fluorecent kingdom and
fitful cave
disease in rampant runs /
ancient culture and
pyramids
boiled down to slimy slums /

Mexico City.
Kick shit and splatter...
adobe walls built up end to end
there's smoke that covers the sky
and you're sick in a waste-basket
puking up some expensive sandwich.

***^***
ª--I--º

There are the two newest. Both written 'tween classes - such fun it is.
It's sorta nice to be back, although I did not have the finest of experiences "getting back in touch with campus" as people will tell you.

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

I'm likin' the frat boy poem. You've summed it up well I think.

8:49 PM  

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