Garble Grumble

You can’t really shake away the bad thoughts. Those obsidian trinkets jingling in moonpie heads, wracking tight nerves bristling with the temperament of spent piano wire. High notes screeching away in a clarion call of dum dum psychosis. Falling down dark cliffs that jut across the wild world, plummeting down to blend into ruined oblivion.

Another trinket comes bustling blowing in. Takes a tad fad look around and sinks teeth into that nice little moment you had. A veritable peanut butter and jelly sandwich diversion you were savoring just a lil’ bit, just enough to keep away the bad ones, the djinns, the unearthly pert savages. Grande. Muerte. Shoving their way into existence, relevance. Don’t feed them or they come again once more. Too late. Brunch was served and I’m cleaning plates for the hellions sipping Spanish coffee, waving around petit fours and orange biscotti. That cloying smell is rising, drenching my nostrils in abrasive taunts; eyes burning with vile anger and fear circa hell. Caught in a hustle and who gets a tip?

I bow down to the gods of prey and paradise, bestowing succulent sychophancies and morbid servitude. Servile to the fullest, I beckon and bend on one knee to miser masters wishing suffering succotash and tongue wagging. To get in close, grab that forsaken tongue and with all strength in me rip the innards out of them, eye gouging a +1 bonus. To be free of the damned demons pulling and pulling me into their wide wacked world. I can’t think straight there, the numbness, the dreary days, the confusion and vice. Indecent actions, proper fucked, I wag my sullied head as dogs in the rain do. Swishing to and fro so nasty words and trifling pygmies fall out of the dungeon.  Let it out get it out rent it out break. Seek seek hide and peek, finding neverland in hobble hole. Seek the light and bask in it.

The sun the sun, a raisin I am in golden hues wrapped around me. Hugging rays like no tomorrow. I’ve reached a new wave, a plateau as it were. Mightily I rise over this new dawn to take what’s mine. The possession is unawares. I am lost once more, my task and tarry is blank slates acting as girders in a skyline still. Tweet tweet go little mocking birds, gray and grave on arrival. Sickly feeling and bumped flesh as they trounce by. I but wish to snatch the little buggers and tear them asunder. Viscera and bloody ‘ell guts straying streaking about. Gonads and gullets, flayed crispy treats for the bad moon rising. Turning dark now, any bliss was short lived short circuited.

Nanoparticles of death perforating midnight air. The faint sweet smell of honey suckled tits wafting along, singing a song, eerily strong. Senses delude me shifting drifting me to headlong gate crashes. St. Peter! Tricky devil that you are. Holding noses at the riff raff as they skulk and slumber every which way. Putting out the trash when the newness has faded. Only gleaming white space and parcels part of heavenly display. Baby blue scenes pastel pasted on divine providence. Take a walk away from the glow, none shall pass and all that rubbish. Puff and stuff, stay in limbo with my kind. Stay awhile and kiss the sky. Hollow grounds fill me right.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s