Bantering with Octagons

[freescorfr]

Asteroids are attic dwellers, troglodytes of out-twisted space, blackheads in the void of each entopic pregnancy, each disappointment, each so nearly not infertile union. The miracles we are, end up in attics.

 

[riff]

acid laced asteroids
glaze the sun
like flakes of sugar
on lumps of fried dough

 

[cymbidia]

Flakes of sugar melt like little disappointments while the dancers keep dancing and the players keep playing and the asteroids, well, the asteroids are beyond our concern and are a thing of the Gods. Undulations of tribulation to the Goddesses, though, who have only the glory of thier vaginas and the keen edge of their wits to keep those Gods on the straight and narrow.

 

[Dillinger]

I fell in love on an asteroid once. It incredibly full of entropy and yet sugary at the same time.

 

[cymbidia]

I fell in lust on a sugar high once, and perceived it as light and sweet and hot hot hot; i craved more. Then i crashed.

 

[GreenEyedGirl]

The eratic pattern he emitted was that of an asteroid on a sugar high, circling, weaving, floating, stinging. Click of the door. Smell of heat and sweet. Sweat headlining on my brow, a world premier of briney sweetwater. Latch of the door. Crash of the paper towels. After all these times around the star, I have found asteroids will stop for nothing, not even the Falcon.

 

[Guest]

 

[Dillinger]

Punch drunk PUNCH and Judy punches drunk. Way to go Judy!

 

[Impetus]

A pair of old puppets rusts on my roof. I peel the wireway off the morning edition with my air holes. The Nyquist rate is unexposable through my window of judicial restraint. Monosylabic has many sylables. Wisconsin collectively looks up into the eyes of a masterfull creator. My hands are covered with chicken blood that I'm borrowing from the music professor for the fortnight. A metric llama is as big as a standard llama. My toes itch, I need a variable-speed beltsander with optional mayonaise to cleanse my organ donar card. Hold my manhood while I bust out the red dye #14 and turn off the paint-stirrer. Use the box of window wipers to keep the Furer off guard. Keep low to the ground, they can't kill what they can't see.

-I

 

[cymbidia]

Is your mama a llama, goes the refrain, over and over inside of my brain. And then it stops because all this is transient, you know and we shall never pass this way again.

 

[sigh]

all things must pass
like a llama over the andes
alive in the clouds
where the ice maiden waits

frozen on cocaine
caffeine
and beer
ice in her veins as the gods smile down
and take her life as their own

sending children to die
to save a people
is worse by far
than war


i fling myself into the cacophany
as i wander off to war
to a jumbled terror of panic
that's the heady heroism of war
and live with teeth-edged grittiness
through the blood and stench of
war

 

[Impetus]

War of atrition, complex addition
Frequency-modular cake
Pole-zero plotting, x-ing and dot-ing
Bode been thrown in a lake

Multiplex Optiplex
Candor, Noodles and Rye
Spectral Extraction, Dorsal Contraction
Vittles, right in the eye.

Cacophony, Sour Boloney,
Withered, Morals, and Pants,
Oxyacedalyne, Morbid like beauty queen
Omnidirecional Dance

Tabulation, Occupation
Paul Orfalea and Beck
Nacho repetitive, Not so repetitive
Pectoral muscles a speck

Dirisive, uncanny, misplacing my nanny
Of little importance to Norm
Hanover, backblower, whippet and lawnmower
Upsetting, removal of porn

Thobias the third, the very next word
Uncanny in optical truth
Morbid retrieval, social upheaval
Verschiket and long in the tooth.

(last verse)

Dielectric analysis, kidney dialysis
Expunging deplorable sow
Nonsense and meter is musicaly sweeter.
Stand still, hear applause, take a bow.

-I

 

[sigh]

from the purse of a sow, a silk ear did rise
or some such thing

but has anyone ever truly made a purse from the ear of a sow?
i think the testicles of a boar would be a more likely choice
or at least the sac they reside within
it has the shape of a container already
all you'd need is an ellie-mae type drawstring
to keep it closed

as for me, i choose silk itself
the drape is so fluid
it takes dye so brilliantly
and it's strong
and sensuous
and so very, very fine


the slide of silk over naked breasts
my nipples rise at the thought

 

[cymbidia]

Like silk to my skin, your words flowed.
Alas for the days gone past!
Alas for the vacuous promises!
Alas and...
The sun still shines.
The lights and heater still work.
The fucking grass still needs to be mowed.
Still and still.
Still.
Alas.
Like silk to my skin, my dreams flow.

 

[Guest]

 

[GreenEyedGirl]

A slash of black on the sun, sun spots, sun flares, sunny days sweeping those clouds away and I am on my way through the rain, shoulders drawn together, eyes focused on the slashed star as its destiny begins.

 

[Dillinger]

My oh my what a wonderful day. Zippity pin head, zippity lighter. Doo dah. Doo dah.

 

[cymbidia]

Pins and needles of sunlight amid the glass balls smell like the summer-dry hills of home.

 

[perks]

You know that hill. The one with daffodills and my cremated ashes. The hill where I learned that periwinkle existed.

 

[sigh]

periwinkle
and blue
and steve look for clues

has anyone a clue what this is about?


i sit on a hill in sunshine
and drink in the wonder of the day
come to me now
this time is good for making love
this place is right
and the light puts your skin in a glow

 

[Dillinger]

Daffodills and tonic, a refreshing drink and yet, surprisingly, periwinkle like in its essense. I am now strangely compelled to climb a hill and juggle glass balls in the sunshine when I reach the top.

 

[perks]

Periwinkle, the mouse knows of what I speak. Cool winter dusk, snow covered Monadnock. The color of peace and dreams.

 

[GreenEyedGirl]

Peace and dreams are colored with crayons you won't find in that big box with the built in sharpener. These colors change more delicately than a mood ring, more intensely that a traffic light, more desperately than a dying man's breath. A Peace crayon is so small, you would doubt its existance until it streaked across your canvas. And dream crayons are notoriously difficult to wrap your fingers around, but oh the swaths is creates.

 

[sigh]

dream of crayons and paper and a child so sweet
drawing houses and stick people and trees of brown and green
the house has a smokestack
there's a sun up above
and grass in the yard
and mom in one window
and dad by the tree
and there's the child herself on a swing
and her sister too with the dog

memories of childhood so distant
so pure
so poignant
and tearful

dreaming with crayons when you're twenty-seven
is damned dangerous stuff

 

[Impetus]

I draw dangerous lines below my left eye with a jet-black pencil. I color my lips a shade that would otherwise indicate my death. The shirt is silk, because I like the feel of it on my skin when I move. I wrap cloth around my hand to remind myself that it's still connected to me. It's raving night.

-I