Monday, June 27, 2011

Saturday, June 18, 2011

shackles in the sky

But ultimately, I postulate, true immortality can be found only in space. Space exploration is the only goal worth striving for. Over the hills and far away. You will know your enemies by those who attempt to block your path. Vampiric monopolists would keep you in time like their cattle. “It’s a good thing cows don’t fly,” they say with an evil chuckle. The evil, intelligent Slave Gods.
- William S. Burroughs


there in the grove of trees that slept upon a cliff
surging like a thick stream of urine
from the spread lips of a mature woman's vagina
the river fell into the lake
falling with forgiveness
eyes closed
hands outstretched
it plunged from the rock face
and was gone
with so many of its kind
around it

from the plane I saw the inlet of the ocean's cusp
cutting into the land like the cleft of an ass
it was buxom and lush
the way a woman's ass should be
delicately groomed by the salt water's hand
lapping at the shore
like a tongue

while in a cave at the bottom of earth
I was hailed by a green light
the light of playful mysteries
above me was the crack in the rock
winking at me as the eye
as a window from the womb
surrounding me were many delights
and the air was humid but delicate
the water was fresh
I could have stayed down there forever
I could have
but I did not

I might have told you
I don't recall
but the white sand of the tropics
the one that sugar coats the beaches there
is not the brittle glass of limestone
or the black grit of volcanoes
it is the crushed skeletons of sea creatures
it is the soulless shit of hungry fish
a crypt of dead coral and dead clams and dead conch
the graveyard for the oceanic wars
all their mysteries wash up there
and some of ours go there to die also
so it is a strange thing
that it is in these places
we find we can relax

the two old ladies led me down the road
from behind them I could see their withered rumps
stained by the brown earth where they had been waiting
I did not speak their language and they certainly did not speak mine
but their skin was white and in this place
you look for the thing you can relate to in people
that is a rule of the traveler
it is how we remain the safest

the uglies

fates of the fat fuckers

I am a dragon's mouth
a barf on the breeze
the winchester sneeze
doomsayer of aunt pam's birthday surprise
we were at the wedding and my little sister pipped up
she walked to the microphone and she pointed at the crowd
"I just want to say, I hope this marriage lasts forever
and that my big brother fingered me when I was 5."
all eyes turned to me
like the growing sores of death
I laughed and said
"you know, I'm not her only big brother."
then there was a dusty silence and the chime of silver
on ceramics
wolves have the power of hybrids
faces canine and torpid
if you've got a crawler in you
the kind with gills
set that crustacean free
before it claws its way to the ocean
dragging your guts behind it

s. sparling

semen demon

uncoil like the seven springs of bliss
snakes for shocks that protect you against
the bumps of passion pits

sort of like snow white teeth that nibble at your ass
not drawing blood but slowly peeling away
the ages of silt that have gathered on the shore
making you far too fertile
not for the good for the nation
but for the good of your womb
which is arrogant and full of holes

s. sparling

juicy mango

and the artist felt the rash of cold
felt his eyes growing mould
with that great big bust of a woman

shaking the mango trees all around us
the artist knew his shoes were tight
knew that the sun was too bright
and his tongue was like a cactus
prickly and painful
so when he licked his wounds
he screamed just like a baby

s. sparling

heat song

Saturday, June 11, 2011

Thursday, June 9, 2011

music to make your ears bleed

behold thy wooden effigy

and recoil in fear ye blue-blooded christians

wood carvings by the great Bruno Walpoth

Friday, June 3, 2011

the devil makes us sin

king francis

rouge is the colour

the unctuous worm

she could be counterfeit

there are times I am aware of the sad barbiturate in my soul
an anchor that swings its shadow on the sea
threatening to drag me down beneath the waves of hands
that would clap upon my entry
and hurt me with their touch
for the words that my body can't excrete
not from any orifice
not from any pour
and I pour and I pour
and squeeze my jelly from my thumb
these are the days of envy
these are the days of absolutes
and in those absolutes are evil
and I am evil
in these days of crime and slaughter
lust and the heart of a father
burning like dynamite
set to blow
and take the holy mother
and the baby 
out the window into the sticks
where nobody but the family dog
can poke his lipstick penis
and feel that warm smooth breeze

and I am relentless
I refuse to stop my bones from creaking
they are leaking and creaking
and my oil is drying up
and my skin begins to rust like heaven's shelter
and I am full of holes
and these holes have names
with lips and tongues that speak separately
without my consent
with alternative brains
that know my own and ignore it
that treat it like shit
so the slit of my cock whistles mary had a little lamb
and my asshole belches rudely
so my ears refuse to listen
but they jabber on about the rosebuds 
and the seaweed
they are in rebellion
they have no home but here

now the chrysalis of my womb
which is not in this refugee body
but sitting playfully in my lap
wobbles and wibbles and gnaws upon my fingers
hungry for something to fill it up
and make it swell up big
like a good womb should
like the organs of old could bulge out
and sweat the sweet venom of history
I am like the white snake
an alien on this earth
coming to you in this formless worm
to mate with this red cherry
and destroy you
from my temple in the sand

S. Sparling