Thursday, March 13, 2014

Poems written at Hollywood and Venice Beach

Dark Creature Flakes (written in Hollywood)
fondant pitch-blue, on knees bees
with a fine-tooth honeycomb
love like a mystery
monster marshmallow
in dark creature flakes
oh oh
are you the surprise?
the hook-up, the pin-up, the cover girl
on the box of
dark creature flakes?
gives the kiddies the shakes
yummy delish red goo snakes
blitz, pour in the boob tube fizz
sizzle the sterovision sugar
crying moon on the spoon
on the rush, the sweet high
slap, slap the dimple on the thigh
you'll find love
like a hair on a marshmallow
monster on your
dark creature flakes
gives the kiddies booty shakes
you'll find love
like a mystery surprise
you gonna by the toy
you gonna be the love
you gonna be the toy
dark creature flakes
gives the kiddies booty shakes

FEEL KNOWLEDGE AS ORGASM
real or unreal
like the pink and baby blue as
a Hollywood sign, fucking retro
get that all funky
making reality junky
yes, real or unreal
ours is the stage of which stages
are defined
we built your world
you are the imitators
we are the realities
our movies are vast universe
our movies is the world
from which you
grasp reality is
real or unreal
defined
by the fishnet stocking
on the legs up a sultry L.A. maiden
she defines the reality in her allurs
she makes the film engines purr
trickling with digital sweat
the paramount of trust in 
us
the lust
the riden-fringes of the ethereal
princesses that lust beyond
the frivolity of being, that
non-sensical endures
throughly-researched
knowing nothing but unraveling
the senses
that need to 
know to feel
to feel knowledge
as orgasm

MILLENIUM FUCK
do you place the mind's ritualized mask
on your fellow man
that takes the stranger into danger
breaking instutionalized tradition
now we furrow the bloody meadows
entwine the sheds of the dust of 
lust
Yes the delivered embers
that burned a poem in the palm
of the hand that
struck the man that took
away the millenium fuck
long the ebb of cities sigh
streets thtat become the hair
on muscled legs, the sweat from 
pores, shining television of
everlasting digital fire
walk now with a new disguise
that hides every man in an 
invisible shadow
the darkness of ignorance
I want to see the spinning girl
the spinning girl, an oasis in
the desert
of engine and asphalt lust.

REAL OR UNREAL
real or unreal
like the pink and baby blue as
a Hollywood sign, fucking retro
get that all funky
making reality junky
yes, real or unreal
ours is the stage of which stages
are defined
we built your world
you are the imitators
we are the realities
our movies are vast universe
our movies is the world
from which you
grasp reality is
real or unreal
defined
by the fishnet stocking
on the legs up a sultry L.A. maiden
she defines the reality in her allurs
she makes the film engines purr
trickling with digital sweat
the paramount of trust in 
us
the lust
the riden-fringes of the ethereal
princesses that lust beyond
the frivolity of being, that
non-sensical endures
throughly-researched
knowing nothing but unraveling
the senses
that need to 
know to feel
to feel knowledge
as orgasm

STRIKE DREAMS
strike dreams before they strike you
it's a fight for the future
winning the minute and hour
I am the master of Time
this is my sand, that dribbles
from the glass
held in the caressing hand of 
slender goddess, her silk is
the silver screen of silver stars
brought to live thru the long darkness
the hot light burns
it burns her into excasty
she is the orgasm of cinema
she will make you pay dearly
for the pop, candy, and popcorn
as you sit, staring at her curves, 
putting a movie ticket between her breasts
let us know that
we must be the directors of
our dreams
our minds
our future
we are not stuffed otters in 
a glass box menagerie
we are gods
we are stars
we are the stars that shine through
the silver screen across
never-ending theaters
theaters that make up
our universe