‘So now are you getting it; you moron?’
‘No, you ain’t that easy, this blazing rendezvous isn’t easy and perhaps you walking over a dead corpse; isn’t that easy.
Loins burning with your sweat, alcohol like, compassion like,
with a catastrophic disposition.
Sweet penetration…o father…sweet penetration.
A crowning flower on your black;
petals of no light, roots of no food, only this smothering whipped cream like universe.
My metaphysical lust, my love less lust; for you my first wet dream also.’
‘What’s your point?’
‘Vertical emotions and magnetic murders.
Sex for humanity.
Catching my wind with a rusted kettle,
and smoke kissing my psychedelic music.’
‘You weird piece of shit, i don’t know you. That time belongs to the oblivion.’
‘I am my poems.’