Cash Missives That Remind Us of Dead Time
sunlight like an animal
its rapture (breathing) shatter recital
gales coupling stipends with a stone defiance
hurled with other gestures at the cold, inert
features of the whole stinking affair (stuck in
a sweat-soaked and hungry sky)
burnt shrieks a hard truth
to carry down that dark tunnel
(always reeking of the visionary--always),
not that it stopped any of them
from walking as if physics really,
genuinely mattered
a simple striping of the herd drinking in the elegance of
nothing exposed but long, rusted pipes all alone in the private
subtleties of syntax caked to your jeans
(to somehow triumph over the tacit)
burrowed into skeletal frames become (the bars bitten)
a universal symbol of marginality, a matted density
stationed wherever the money goes to share its war,
its poverty, its crippling alienation
for many days and nights.
Improvisation #WD40
time was a poisoned distinction
as red as vertebrae attests to
silent alarms lining my libido with
a manic veracity to forego one stab at
eternity aligning cruel breasts whore
mind us continually of nouns and
vowels in a neon-blue room after
rescusitating fallen stars missing your
strange smile and sweet, hairy cube
already. wonder stigmas lugging our
coded ennui left beneath the ruins
wandering barefoot through your face's
creative career flying communal fear
over worn dollar bills starving to death
thousands living below the bottom line
daily behaviour concealing the mark
of a plan carcinogenic next to denim
kisses left on morphing epistemologies.
a fiend sizzling less talk.
sunlight like an animalits rapture (breathing) shatter recital
gales coupling stipends with a stone defiance
hurled with other gestures at the cold, inert
features of the whole stinking affair (stuck in
a sweat-soaked and hungry sky)
burnt shrieks a hard truth
to carry down that dark tunnel
(always reeking of the visionary--always),
not that it stopped any of them
from walking as if physics really,
genuinely mattered
a simple striping of the herd drinking in the elegance of
nothing exposed but long, rusted pipes all alone in the private
subtleties of syntax caked to your jeans
(to somehow triumph over the tacit)
burrowed into skeletal frames become (the bars bitten)
a universal symbol of marginality, a matted density
stationed wherever the money goes to share its war,
its poverty, its crippling alienation
for many days and nights.
Improvisation #WD40
time was a poisoned distinction
as red as vertebrae attests to
silent alarms lining my libido with
a manic veracity to forego one stab at
eternity aligning cruel breasts whore
mind us continually of nouns and
vowels in a neon-blue room after
rescusitating fallen stars missing your
strange smile and sweet, hairy cube
already. wonder stigmas lugging our
coded ennui left beneath the ruins
wandering barefoot through your face's
creative career flying communal fear
over worn dollar bills starving to death
thousands living below the bottom line
daily behaviour concealing the mark
of a plan carcinogenic next to denim
kisses left on morphing epistemologies.
a fiend sizzling less talk.
Gentle Thunder
Gentle Thunder: sinking skin as alphabet neutrino grace levering a secret
caravan shucking and jiving the electric belonging to all of us and running
through our fingers simultaneously,
boldly squeezed confident alignment writing desires as parted lips
meeting everything at some rubbing of the self on
the sonic taste/creating sight syllables (no longer king of the click)
Truth as universal pall-bearer?
Digging through quiverig paranoia
the mirror becoming the supreme issue of our time, exposing the sham
metaphysics lurking insidiously behind all forms of representation
Not even good for the setting sun that makes music sexy...
wishing past your pants, facetious as ever,
creating titanic all we can do miasma frying subterfuge
with the glory of an epidemic rifle addressed to
the ancestors of water-dreams chewing on the
lumpen band-aids incipient, feeling spacious and
dangerous allure peddling a busty trauma freezing
cold, thinking constantly about veneered lines of
lonely so becoming of the sky
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Robert Chrysler is an inspired subway-ranter from Toronto, Canada . He enjoys challenging capitalist property relations, trying to figure out what the post-structuralists are going on about, and dreams of someday living in a tree.
