Alexandra Norrskèn (N.S.) (lantichristo) wrote,
Alexandra Norrskèn (N.S.)

happy new year ... here we go ...


Brother of low degree
Lithium power shower of blazing sparks
in retina of slight degree and free vision
Mark on downgrade slow fade heartbeat...
Rise to the occasion or slide to it's defeat
Repeat fractions that accost you, molested derelict gum-shoe/dumb waiter...
Free season gun shot master-baiter.
Mercury glides through the fusion of planetary weezings, and it's a mindfuck affair.
Check the pulse, pulsating regiments below the thick sun glare.
Loose case corpse of rich rot-gut.
I was hot to trot and ready for action,any action.
A distraction from the usual fair, but my flair never faltered,
Let me assure you in half-awareness, that I was a brother of low degree,
on my knees in semi-darkness of nightshade injustice.
Penetration forms the basis of unnatural reproduction,introduction to the underworld,
underbelly, topsy-turvy skeletal regime...
In this season of blindness I research the fields of braille laid out before me.
Bumps on skin forming masses/passes as in human form.
Scorned-heat-garbage-runner, ringworm-slant-farmer,the father of all disease.
An atmospheric dance with darkness, illuminated pulse of a star across the solar plane,
phosphorescent love -take the space-shove and wind up lost in the milky way of
suppressed sex and perversion.
Worm-runners shimmy through the aftermath of destitutional insanity.
All the goats scape and the virgins are burned Joan-of-Arc style,
flames shooting high through the air and martyrdom intact.
I do not intend to discourage you with these words of dime-story wisdom,
but if the shoe fits wear it, and by the looks of you,you're about a size 13,
which if the myths are to be believed is a telltale sign of further endowments,
if you get my drift-lock-word-ramblings...
Hateful thoughts burrow deep beneath hot-flash, withered flesh eating, maggot lust,
furlough to indifference and intolerant behavior.
But darling, don't get me wrong,you are my savior.
Further research may not be neccesary,awaiting instruction in this blackened death march game.
Teetering on the brink and drink hastily from the boiling cup of disillusionment, REPENT,
relentlessly searching for a cure to this vile addiction...
sickened by the sight of lost children(I,myself,included)roaming aimlessly through
the piles of rubish/hashish induced comatose,drug-state elation.
Road map to anywhere,somewhere...NOWHERE.Lines crumble and blend
with the atentiveness of a doting,mother-fucking
Somewhere over the rainbow,colored slight of hand and crippled finger,ring her neck and
wretched body ground to pulp,
And I am neither here nor there,an unaware observer of life's scrumptious plate of manure,
matured and often squandered...
Burning image of infectious wild-dog-rampage,unlocked cages wither with desire,
a sure fire plot to over-ride the connection...
Spent mind in crawling bad luck/dumb fuck - pretension,an added dimension of Harker's smooth gin.
Where to begin? With an ending so close and nothing but cheap ramblings of pharmaceutical ignorance being
regurgitated from my gaping orifice like the orange sunset of yesteryear.
Chalk-faced,dribble running down my chin in forbidden corners of childhood horror.

Hide-and-go - life becomes perhaps worth living.Allow me this much leverage,
a bitter-sweet twisting of truth...And those were the days.

"The Whorse's Mouth", 1996

Rozz Williams
Tags: poetry

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