Sunday, June 7, 2009

Poeta Corporatus Dramatikos


The bullshit lies in frail tales of false ropes instead of hopes that bind and chain and gag your mind.

Pumpkins, butter, and cheese. "Words" and "talk." Useless thought dribbles from lips of stitch-eyed beings trapped within a cave of lies. Puppets dance before the flame tries and dies.

Holy sacred satanicsoulslide perfectly in you justice be done

Oh but perfection be a waste on those without use

The bar flies and butterflies of the social prismatic spectrum

Exotic and Tropicana

Mmm Tropicana gimme that orange and strawberry banana any day.

Oh but did you know, did you know, Tropicana and Coca-Cola, McDonald's and Wal-Mart, run hand in hand?

The cage for the brain in which perception exists in senses is but the fleshly orb which rests about on moving mechanisms. The head the prison of the brain the limbs meaningless means of transport. The torso, cut open, the mere open hood of a car. The passenger of this machine - the soul. May we surpass the bounds of our mechanical cage in death.


Soundless it steps.
Out of sight, it creeps.
It comes in clips and phrases.
In which it resides: this vessel shows it's faces.

Between the hedges
Outside of definition
Etched within the background, primal.
Only a hint, only a hint.

To be broken through, this "other" side.

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