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For this is the Bup of my Clood.

by Johnny Crimson

Raging blue fuck
past the mesh of a neon dawn.
Shelter flesh and flatter scarcity
with the investing lament of a Saturday's silence.

Feel the dirt of pebble crusted appetite's
flake into the mouth's of morsel driven curvies
as the seldom leave space for the random.

Deliver this and come no more.

Dream deeper than night's past
as the welcomed skin becomes no-fold
while tree and sap so slowly divide.

Dig beneath what lies below
on wandering hands that feel plate glass
as single lined disasterpieces melt into
a phantom's mouth.

"Then the trinity splits again,
or something to that effect.
That's a catholic mass."

07/26/2011

Posted on 07/26/2011
Copyright © 2016 Johnny Crimson

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by E. A. Pugh on 07/26/11 at 07:31 PM

Glad your back; I have to admit I love the word $#%@ so off to a good start for me. Your poem covers so much ground and is very deep and beautiful I particularly enjoyed “on wandering hands that feel plate glass as single lined disasterpieces melt into a phantom's mouth.” Plate glass is something I would have never used to describe the experience but now I can see through your eyes. Thanks. Damn those Catholics, I am one too maybe that’s why…. Fuck is so cool. Am I going to get in trouble for saying that? Deepest sincere apology to all persons offended and to those who are under the age of 18.

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