Bantering with Octagons

[sigh]

waxwork dripping
a font of gore sublime

(rubymyst)

when the bat soars to the noonday sun
there'll come a mystic gem
humming mantra's scent
to the wind
to the earth
to which end we go
and where

questions
always questions

 

[Radiohead]

Answers no answers
when it comes to one
that close personnel adore
and what for

They'd love to be close
and love to enquire
but they know the subject
she, would not, desire.

 

[rubymystic]

Answers?
Not all beauty is pretty
Not all truth is kind

sleeping bats
Icarus winged
Sink
melt drowning
Sun

reflections…
evening fire
the past...
outcast
dust
and
desire.

( good to see your postings again!!)

 

[drown]

terror soaked
indigent...

feigned calm.

lit with a whoosh;
to
bourgeois cackles...

a pint then?
for you and you

 

[Radiohead]

Calm, faked
Horror unslacked

I have nightmares
I have sleepless hours
I have untold fears
April showers

I drown in this

 

[sigh]

drown slowly
caked in oil and blood
mind seared by flame's delight

it's too much
sometimes

pin nipples
clamp labia
twist the screw
pierce
burn

me

teeth hard on edge
a concrete jaw

wishing for a sigh

 

[drown]

less a sigh
than
pointed exhale.

rained
on her there

never there before

or was that
dew drop

of her own
creation?

she knew not
whether
to taste
this curiosity

or to admire
it.

 

[Dillinger]

Oh my
where oh where
did the Octagon go?
I need some banter
Banter today.

For the screwing curiosity of it is that rain always questions the lazy saltiness of the motor-launched quark.

You can't deny it.

 

[Dillinger]

Hark, is that an octagon I see, I see?
Or is it perhaps a hippomelonosaurus with acute angina?

 

[drown]

the shape;
your choice.

now loosed...


octagons

 

[Dillinger]

'tis the shape of things undone
or the choice of those that are prime

 

[sigh]

undone shapes glittering in starlight seem less noxious than flat, pale beer
can't we get a yeasty thing going here?

scratching at my crotch for some unknown reason

 

[tortoise]

cratchety crusty crotch-rot
crinkly cranium crutch
crunchety cranky crock-pot
crackly chromium crust

 

[drown]

wrestled loser
tortured
o'er the
messages
left behind.

pinned;

on his back...
missed the epiphany
aimed
at
a standing him...

the freezing sea,
his siren
now.

 

[Dillinger]

Ah the multitude of unknown crotch shapes. Makes it difficult to figure out just how to pattern the crotchless underwear, doesn't it?

 

[drown]

cock-size.


yet you,
dear girl,

get off

on how smart you...

insist upon
telling us
you
are

 

[Dillinger]

Smart money insists that the cranium is less a dew drop than a sigh. The smart hippo is a nightmare of feigned calm.

Come, dance with me on my shiny new octagon?

 

[drown]

faux
rigourousness
served al-dente...

why must you slather
for the gathered
inquisitors
?

the reins
were passed
whilst
you were consumed
mid-faun.

:sarcasticon:

 

[Dillinger]

Why do bluebirds fly whilst wearing crotchless underwear?
Why do wrestlers gather on freezing seas to pierce labia?
Why did she banter about undone craniums?

Ah the mysterious octagon!

 

[sigh]

slay the bluebird
octagon dreams
sail the undone cranium sea
puff
find your wise-ness
like a font of dust
and your smarts
at daybreak


who is she?

 

[drown]

with each sigh...

to jack an octagon?

there is a purity
called for
but unexpected....

a red octagon?
a clarion...

is that your....
frankenstein?

words have...

 

[Dillinger]

Wise red bluebird
Smart pink daybreak
The 8th shall become 3rd
Eat the cake

 

[sigh]

layer the fields of your inner blacklist
stuff the cake
four and twenty bluebirds full

suffer then bushmen
in narrow pits
pink tears wash hot

line the glides
and sing to me of rubies

 

[rubymystic]

Darkended dreams
become modern grapes of wrath
reaping a bitter sweet ruby wine.

Without ruby wine
Can one enjoy lovely
Cherry blossoms?

No blossoms ..
No moon..

 

[Dillinger]

Layer the moon with pink purity
Sing ruby smart hippos
Melt with a drowning whoosh
Dance dance dance