Jungle Of Spines ("Nervous Isle" series, 2 of 5)

My anchor climbs overboard and sinks it's teeth in sand:

"Oh no! Oh no, no!"

A sickly serum crawls up it's legs and fucks it's eyeball strands:

"Oh no! Oh no, no!"

The woods are mewing, heaven looks foolish.

Rapids are lusting, heaven's got a thong on.

Boots form drunken DJs run off arm-in-arm with us,

Twitching from their lunar fits, shooting up some witch's dust.

A jungle of spins, nerves rubbing on each other

Heavy with the breaths of heart attack scams,

A jungle of spines is where you'll find me, lover;

Write back to me some time next week...

Our rides a beak made from a beauty queen,

Wrapped up in some teenager's horny dream

And our tuxedos are pressed-in recycled sex toys,

Lips puckered so hard they gag in joy

And dance and dance with hallucinating natives

So wild and charmed and pixelatd

And fuck away our feelings and our minds

Just like grandfather clocks who forget time.

God bless the Nervous Isle!

Shackled to the shocks of eleven dusty clouds,

These villagers take us to their neo-utopia.

Breath-taking satellite imagery of kaleidoscopic structural lungs

Commemorate, annunciate, cpaitalize, and prophesize

Like a plucked, down-and-out assasin.

The word "celebration" and it's counterparts

Tag their selves upon my crew, while we walk gawdy

And bashfully tall into these stranger's bedrooms.

We Sail The Circuitry Sea! ("Nervous Isle" series, 1 of 5)

"All aboard the S.S. Carnival!" (shout the Sweepstakes Clientele)

"Tonight, we set sail for The Nervous Isle.

Wrapped and bound in Medusa-snake hands,

Cluttered in the mystery of the trial!"

We sail the Circuitry Sea, sapphire waves swollen, on repeat.

We connect cables from our heads to the frothing seafoam beds

And take in all the noise she offers, leaving clues of the aging monsters.

You know she's synthesized, a haute slow-motioned bride,

Collecting bachelors on her back, like a blurred synchronized trap.

Keep the rhythm of pageantry slow against your horror

Keep the rhythm of a drum machine pressed on human error.

So starry the night on a Circuitry Sea!

We gawk like Awkward Cranberries at her shiny freckles

So blissfully shy, she flinches form the squeeze,

A heavenly exhale, a breeze! Hisses like a scandal

All in all, we're whole. A carousel, we're whole.

Embrace the lunar fits, the 80s twist, the unabashed banishment.

We sail the Circuitry Sea, as Awkward Cranberries choking on dreams

Of sweaty scams, summer campaigns,

Jewelry hands, holiday tomb manes,

Of...land!

The Dock

Kahlua-sprinkled carcasses are splattered on the sea floor.

Their horny mantras go unheard and spiral like western noir.

My teeth bleached and rotting bite at frustration-fed delights.

And ransack the caretaker's cottage, just to rat on the burly boss.

Sweet, surly, sultry, farm! Blanketing their cots with domination.

Shopkeeper's "fuck" alarm! Goes off at the smell of abomination.

They sail painting the phallus sky a dizzy shade of blue on the S.S. Telephone Wire

They dock and board more octopi fluttering about like an open-book pyre.

Therapeutic nails claw out the chest,

Shocking knives collect modest amounts of tension.

Carpal tunnel kaleidoscope reeks of volleying threats,

They look and find eight counts of empty lessons.

"It's fucking hot like a bride-to-be's dance floor

These seas of muscle flex and protrude some more

On the shores...we'd better disembark" they implore.

They scratch at jaws itching anxiety

With the sides of ports and the parades of palm trees

And I know, that we're not better off alone.

I say "absolve air".

They say "dissolve and dilute".

They're like the family of musicians I never had.

So let's see what's at the dock.

The Ambushes

We are the coroner's resuscitated plaything wrapped in skin.

We're the virus conjugating at the perforations.

We're the battered batch tossed into the junkyard jungle,

Licking at diseases that house card trick muffles.

Vacate the flesh! Paralyzed mess!

Conceal the pheromone-pumped apocalypse!

And then we'll ransack a rockstar's sick dream!

Nooses that scream like how microphones sing.

We'll rob that jackal of his whiskey and

Drink on isles dreamed up in high class diaries.

Vile roar roars in your heartthrobs

Vile roar roars a chord of infamy

Press on! Press on! Towards the gagged shoreline so we can

Roar vile roars into the skylines.

They'll open up and hand out designer trees

And turn to lost postcards and jealousy

That turns brittle in the sun.

Twenty years in this drilling bed.

Ten months cooking on the sea.

Sex hours signing dotted lines

Three minutes dedicating lives.

And I'm still not giving in.

No, we're not giving in.

Boss Of All Bosses

The Boss of all Bosses

Collects women's arms and men's dominance and leaves them with a salty debt,

Like a charming tattoo.

The dance floor writhes under the precipitation of his mistress mumbles,

He conquers crimes and sells them back like a moral juggle.

Heated lights don't dare to fire the blame at him,

The martini glasses cackle form their dizzying spin

On top of his electric stage stuffed with the underage,

His sassy fingertips applaud his opulent ways.

Come share a toast with the Boss of all Bosses.

In the house of classes, the man with the chandelier smile is revered as top bill.

The piranha's threat travels from the bedroom back into his gills.

His heaving hands collide against the gawking sky

And bring it down into the place where dealers lie.

Collect in calamity, the Boss of all Bosses.

Revel in the sultry, the Boss of all Bosses.