Raptor

She had feet like railways
You could hear the smallest movements
As she swayed

Broadcasting from this little house
The father wiped hair from his eyes
He'd built a bridge for the voices in his head
They opened eyes underneath his skin

A Murder of Silhouettes

I

She pulled herself around on her broken spine. Pulled it like she had a point to make. What her mouth spelled was no word for the bevy of codeine vampires that affixed themselves to her strata. They shivered and gibbered, affianced to her sweet aroma.
"I do not ghost ride the fucking whip," Keats said with authority, her dignity flaming fuck you's. She held the door open as a moth flew in, hoping to meet a butterfly. Keats smiled, she'd seen the moths flutter straight onto the flypaper we'd glued to the coffee table. I sat back on the bar, a coka-cola in one hand and a cigarette and a shot in the other. The medikamenten in my stomach had started fucking with my head. PM and AM were all mixed up, daylight shone breezily in a waft that stunk of daisies. The moth quivered, asked for dandy-lion wine and stuck its nose out for a sip. I flicked a black fingernail out and severed its ties to the earth. Keats got on the couch next to the girl and all her admirers, their suckers praying for a grasp.
It was 1934 and the bubbles in the champagne burst pretty sepia. The ne'er-do-well threw her hat on a rack and gave me a look like we didn't have enough bullets for the proboscis-wearers around the lady. Her dress was almost off her and vodka saturated the air around her.

II

I was a darling number named Delilah at this point, but colours were already more vivid than the Yellow Submarine. "I don't need another," I slurred to Keats. She wasn't actually a woman, but for the sake of moths and the suction cup black hole in the blue dress, we had agreed upon this beforehand. I didn't think I could pull out my revolver in time, and when I looked at it in my bad, it fairly grinned back at me. "Motherfucker," I breathed out.
"Don't you have any less dreary records?" the lampreys on the couch yawned, their fangs bared at my intentions. Keats grinned as she spit out some paper. "Everything here is broken into fractals, ladies," she laughed. "Our Delilah didn't want to pull the be-bop on a couple of swaggerers."
Stumbled over to the antichrist and sat cross legged on the floor in front of the couch. The pistol tucked in my pocket giggled. "Have you heard of a game called Russian roulette, miss?" I asked the fully aware girl. The suckerfish descended on the moth before I closed my mouth, leaving rorschach patterns on the linoleum.
The Goddess shook as her spine ate up her organs. Keats closed the door and turned off the lamp.

Hari-kari-ku

At just tiny cost

My colossal boot will descend

On your fucking face

Zombie Hat trick

There's so little we take for granted
And it's the hardest things that pass so quickly
Life's pale and uninteresting
When you don't recognize the little things
Brandon Lee said it right
Believe me, nothing is trivial
Everyone needs to find time to doubt themselves

Realizatio

My subconscious wants me to kill myself.

Shit! Fycl!

You were hovering quite slowly above my face so I blew smoke
over up at you. Sky shattered serenely, you lost all dignity. An
overflowing grin split your face up and I couldn't help but smile
back.

A sleeveless shirt is recipe for disaster in these locales, friend.

Growlithe?!

She's so anxious that necklace is choking her
Blowing glances from coiffed eyelashes
Blowing back facial wipes
She's holding back, she's an actress.

Swallow your tongue, don't even think those words again
You're sucking the wrong damn end of the gun
No match for killers, ears peeking out the mirror
Don't vote left right, the equilibrium's blown
Like the shattered windows those politicians blew
With the doves they shot with their twenty-twos

Fucking fascists, fucking beatniks
It's the common sense an obstacle
Burning all your bridges, scars your vision
Stop trying to listen, just stop to think.

Expletiara

Gorilla tranquilizers, I am accursed
Sweet coup d'etat, show me your purse ma'am
Far too small, fuckin' assembly line
Got bent on your mother's transmission fluid and lime
Now slow yourself down, corrupted mothership
Bank noted suicide, forget your chill pills:
this time it's real.

Lost perfectionism is that art unsaid
Gone blue and black, all pulled and stacked
Yesterday I lost the ability to spell my own name

Grievous child, your machinations are full-breasted.

Trainmusic

Rivulets ran up her spine, those virulent affections
Pay no attention to the undue digression
Mixing you back and forth in a waveform progression
Their denial might be protection but it's also a weapon.

My cake tasted like blood when I won it
Achy rusty and no correction from it
Dastardly bastard, the inebriate's a hit
Smile sideways you son of a bitch

Medioration

Sometimes the closest cut makes the least amount of scars.

Encircling rapture just flew up behind my eyes. I'm blind as a bat, mad as a hatter, and chewing gum like a beaver.