The Mezunian

It’s the cream in your cup, it’s the feather in your cap, it’s the dice in your hands, it’s the flab in your pan, it’s the color o’ leaves, it’s the holes in cartoon cheese, it’s your knees’ bees, it’s crease in your jeans, it’s the tingling in your knickers, it’s the warning before every […]

with the scent o’ berries, too; smudged on smoky sidewalk chalk. Chalk it up to moonlit blues, choking me up harshly soft. Chatter dead is better than dead silence wand’ring wolfen streets on urban hills that never bend & shatters into icy neon. Moonlight full o’ foggy capes, follow me through thin-black japes’ scarecrow boughs […]

I. You think you’re safe from the HAND. You’re wrong. Nobody can ‘scape its righteous wrath. We are mere flesh bags with brains full o’ insects compared to our deductive master. Don’t be prideful ‘nough to think you are free from its natural unnatural rule— to this mighty fist stomping on inferior human minds fore’er […]

Die Blätter sind weg. Jetze ist alles weg… The leaves are gone. Now everything is gone…

O, please, give me your sour & sweet poisoned, juicy starburst dripping with the rich twist o’ cyanide-pill chalk, heart-spiking sugar sharks, thick aquariums o’ soft & safe booze to fill my villi stomach with revolting microbes, & causing my membrane to flap… Year-end songs— Flutters so much. Please rest, bloody heart. ..to kill ‘nother […]

Aber es sagte, „Sie irren sich, und Sie sollten gehen.“ But it said, “You are wrong, & you should leave.”

Note: I was going to “celebrate” Marxmas by posting an article wherein I shit on Marxism & it’s stupid “Dictatorship of the Proletariat” bullshit, ’cause, as predicted, 2015 was a bad year, & that’s what you do on years without a warm future. But I’m sick to death o’ politics (& don’t have the time […]

Chocolate cola:evening stream o’ japes.Warmth & chill.

Under God’s glown gazemy flaky face melts like snow:heavenly winter.

Accompanying music. Light that leads me through the blizzard, white in flakes, such snuggled blankets. Tangy sugar never withers, though this season never bakes it, only baked so long ago, you remind me o’ soft bread, warm tan crescents made o’ snow. Noses itch in strong, fresh scents. Red lights warn you: stop & breathe, […]