Come with Byron
now near-lucid, and son
to where the bony deals are done.
Where rage empty eyed
sandblasts the fences and the empty flower beds.
Where anger is the norm,
the median and the colour
of the shade beneath the bell
all amped to the brink.
Where vehicles sans doors,
sans bonnet, sans wheels decorate the driveways
Coke and oven bag of the good mix
From Go to Gunga deep inhale.
Tears upon the inorganic.
Byron choofing
being who he be. Acrid chest
soft smoke
head spinning clear, unclear. Turning.
That black dog, boy. Fucking listen! Learn fucking something.
It’s a mad dog, it’s black, it’s mad, it’s a bad dog, it’s a sad
dog, it’s bad and sad: its a black, mad, bad, sad monster of a
fucking drowning dog – gonna bite me again, no doubt ‘bout
that, grab me by the throat and hold me underwater, under
conscious, til me tears and water are all dead black. Bad dog.
Sad dog. Dog fucking loves me. So much fucking sadness in
my heart, boy.
Zen and glass spider webs
and powdered moth wings fold
numbed boy dreaming
head abob
a tattooed shoulder
And at the window, tomorrow lurking,
the incessant pummelling of a hard black light.
And the whirring in the ceiling
honing a fated edge.
Barking mad.
Barking.
Barking.
this ear gone unhinged malice.
all amped to the brink.
Oil them and shove them on
Poverty and carrot juice in the syringe
Dream of lotto, yeah as if,
Upon the spring-punctured mattress,
within the cube, within the love without the soft vowel
and
all amped to the brink.
And never dawn, always dusk,
the colour from time inside devours
radians and degrees, long time passing,
rants anger to the end of voice
the blunting of the bladed day.
Wit monotonal
down the drain bad shit Draino!
Kennebecs for mash,
Coke and oven bag of the good mix
From Go to Gunga deep inhale.
Tears upon the inorganic.
Byron choofing
being who he be. Acrid chest
soft smoke
head spinning clear, unclear. Turning.
That black dog, boy. Fucking listen! Learn fucking something.
It’s a mad dog, it’s black, it’s mad, it’s a bad dog, it’s a sad
dog, it’s bad and sad: its a black, mad, bad, sad monster of a
fucking drowning dog – gonna bite me again, no doubt ‘bout
that, grab me by the throat and hold me underwater, under
conscious, til me tears and water are all dead black. Bad dog.
Sad dog. Dog fucking loves me. So much fucking sadness in
my heart, boy.
Zen and glass spider webs
and powdered moth wings fold
numbed boy dreaming
head abob
a tattooed shoulder
And at the window, tomorrow lurking,
the incessant pummelling of a hard black light.
And the whirring in the ceiling
honing a fated edge.
Barking mad.
Barking.
Barking.
this ear bitten off hard metal love
this ear gone unhinged malice.
all amped to the brink.
Oil them and shove them on
Poverty and carrot juice in the syringe
Dream of lotto, yeah as if,
Upon the spring-punctured mattress,
within the cube, within the love without the soft vowel
and
all amped to the brink.
And never dawn, always dusk,
the colour from time inside devours
radians and degrees, long time passing,
rants anger to the end of voice
the blunting of the bladed day.
Wit monotonal
down the drain bad shit Draino!
Kennebecs for mash,
Coke and oven bag of the good mix
From Go to Gunga deep inhale.
Tears upon the inorganic.
Byron choofing
being who he be. Acrid chest
soft smoke
head spinning clear, unclear. Turning.
That black dog, boy. Fucking listen! Learn fucking something.
It’s a mad dog, it’s black, it’s mad, it’s a bad dog, it’s a sad
dog, it’s bad and sad: its a black, mad, bad, sad monster of a
fucking drowning dog – gonna bite me again, no doubt ‘bout
that, grab me by the throat and hold me underwater, under
conscious, til me tears and water are all dead black. Bad dog.
Sad dog. Dog fucking loves me. So much fucking sadness in
my heart, boy.
Zen and glass spider webs
and powdered moth wings fold
numbed boy dreaming
head abob
a tattooed shoulder
And at the window, tomorrow lurking,
the incessant pummelling of a hard black light.
And the whirring in the ceiling
honing a fated edge.
Barking mad.
Barking.
Barking.
And this a brawler this a clown
this ear bitten off hard metal love
this ear gone unhinged malice.
all amped to the brink.
Oil them and shove them on
Poverty and carrot juice in the syringe
Dream of lotto, yeah as if,
Upon the spring-punctured mattress,
within the cube, within the love without the soft vowel
and
all amped to the brink.
And never dawn, always dusk,
the colour from time inside devours
radians and degrees, long time passing,
rants anger to the end of voice
the blunting of the bladed day.
Wit monotonal
down the drain bad shit Draino!
Kennebecs for mash,
Coke and oven bag of the good mix
From Go to Gunga deep inhale.
Tears upon the inorganic.
Byron choofing
being who he be. Acrid chest
soft smoke
head spinning clear, unclear. Turning.
That black dog, boy. Fucking listen! Learn fucking something.
It’s a mad dog, it’s black, it’s mad, it’s a bad dog, it’s a sad
dog, it’s bad and sad: its a black, mad, bad, sad monster of a
fucking drowning dog – gonna bite me again, no doubt ‘bout
that, grab me by the throat and hold me underwater, under
conscious, til me tears and water are all dead black. Bad dog.
Sad dog. Dog fucking loves me. So much fucking sadness in
my heart, boy.
Zen and glass spider webs
and powdered moth wings fold
numbed boy dreaming
head abob
a tattooed shoulder
And at the window, tomorrow lurking,
the incessant pummelling of a hard black light.
And the whirring in the ceiling
honing a fated edge.
Barking mad.
Barking.
Barking.
And this a brawler this a clown
this ear bitten off hard metal love
this ear gone unhinged malice.
all amped to the brink.
Oil them and shove them on
Poverty and carrot juice in the syringe
Dream of lotto, yeah as if,
Upon the spring-punctured mattress,
within the cube, within the love without the soft vowel
and
all amped to the brink.
And never dawn, always dusk,
the colour from time inside devours
radians and degrees, long time passing,
rants anger to the end of voice
the blunting of the bladed day.
Wit monotonal
down the drain bad shit Draino!
Kennebecs for mash,
Coke and oven bag of the good mix
From Go to Gunga deep inhale.
Tears upon the inorganic.
Byron choofing
being who he be. Acrid chest
soft smoke
head spinning clear, unclear. Turning.
That black dog, boy. Fucking listen! Learn fucking something.
It’s a mad dog, it’s black, it’s mad, it’s a bad dog, it’s a sad
dog, it’s bad and sad: its a black, mad, bad, sad monster of a
fucking drowning dog – gonna bite me again, no doubt ‘bout
that, grab me by the throat and hold me underwater, under
conscious, til me tears and water are all dead black. Bad dog.
Sad dog. Dog fucking loves me. So much fucking sadness in
my heart, boy.
Zen and glass spider webs
and powdered moth wings fold
numbed boy dreaming
head abob
a tattooed shoulder
And at the window, tomorrow lurking,
the incessant pummelling of a hard black light.
And the whirring in the ceiling
honing a fated edge.
Barking mad.
Barking.
Barking.
and mini-me gumboots sans the toddler
decorate the weed pitted lawn
words effete and black rubber screaming
the broken bottle
shards of Oxy,
the packet, the pierced nose twitching,
pin-prick eyes staring
through the dead blanket of the ‘hood’s
quarter acre impoverished
a rusted chassis in every tear
And this a brawler this a clown
this ear bitten off hard metal love
this ear gone unhinged malice.
all amped to the brink.
Oil them and shove them on
Poverty and carrot juice in the syringe
Dream of lotto, yeah as if,
Upon the spring-punctured mattress,
within the cube, within the love without the soft vowel
and
all amped to the brink.
And never dawn, always dusk,
the colour from time inside devours
radians and degrees, long time passing,
rants anger to the end of voice
the blunting of the bladed day.
Wit monotonal
down the drain bad shit Draino!
Kennebecs for mash,
Coke and oven bag of the good mix
From Go to Gunga deep inhale.
Tears upon the inorganic.
Byron choofing
being who he be. Acrid chest
soft smoke
head spinning clear, unclear. Turning.
That black dog, boy. Fucking listen! Learn fucking something.
It’s a mad dog, it’s black, it’s mad, it’s a bad dog, it’s a sad
dog, it’s bad and sad: its a black, mad, bad, sad monster of a
fucking drowning dog – gonna bite me again, no doubt ‘bout
that, grab me by the throat and hold me underwater, under
conscious, til me tears and water are all dead black. Bad dog.
Sad dog. Dog fucking loves me. So much fucking sadness in
my heart, boy.
Zen and glass spider webs
and powdered moth wings fold
numbed boy dreaming
head abob
a tattooed shoulder
And at the window, tomorrow lurking,
the incessant pummelling of a hard black light.
And the whirring in the ceiling
honing a fated edge.
Barking mad.
Barking.
Barking.
