SENSICALISH
realized by
JAMES QUENTIN DEVINE
pissing in the graveyard
for
absolutely no one
MUNDUS VULT DECIPI
THESE
are SONGS gone WRONG
In which
YOU are
implicated impaginated impressioned and impregnated
break in cant of
EMERGENCE
T.F.A.
I think I know The Final Answer.
I think I know who asked.
I think I know a lot of things.
I think I’ll show my ass.
HOW IT’S BEEN
Believe me.
And leave me.
It’s possible I’m irredeemable.
Unretrievable.
Poorly conceived.
Gold end.
I HURT EXACTLY THE PLACE I NEEDED TO FIX (ANYWAY)
Fuck I.
Woke up fucked up think I broke a couple ribs.
Good-sized stab hole in my tank top.
Fuck knows.
Long laceration.
Shit.
They don’t make those anymore.
Shit.
That’s the last of that.
Fuck it I guess.
What else is there?
Six inches of blood.
Scarring to score.
FIENDING PENIS
I must protect the part of myself that propagates.
Protest the insect that feeds on deficits.
Brief grease.
Debased.
Cheap and chic.
In free-fall.
Me?
I’m pancoastal.
Wherever water and land meet I’m just There.
Hovering in the air.
Corporate reggae, elaborate.
Shat pants.
Fent fold.
This again.
Piss pools.
Pots of dolphins.
Flotsam fucking.
Life long.
Sucky-sucky.
The constraints of coherence.
Nothing means anything.
Fuck me.
In nearness.
Smoke wafts off him.
Here.
It’s often.
He doffs a velvet coughing.
Sputters.
Flustering adoption.
We don’t talk often.
Heat chills.
Shooting drills.
Soothing.
Sweat to exhaustion.
Sown fields.
THE LOVER OF LIFE
Catch yourself in tatters as if it ever mattered.
Togs and tags and harbors sagging saintly.
Is we great or ain’t we.
Shut the fuck up.
Fuck you.
I’ll kill you.
I’ll kill you.
I’ll kill you.
I’ll kill you.
Catch yourself in the mirror.
Looking-like.
“You’re doing great, sweetie.”
HEX AMERICANA
I want to have a say in what kind of shower I’m taking.
The color of my front door.
Feels like never since I last rested.
Baited brief and sunken chested.
Sheeeeeit.
Shit.
Shit.
You ever think about just changing your name to something fucking crazy?
“My name is Alien Music.”
Maybe a foot guy will think you’re a producers kid and take pity on you.
Good idea, man.
ANTI STAR ✫ SUPER CHRIST
Corgans and oceans.
Organs in motion.
I keep getting lost.
I forget what I’m doing.
I’m doing too much.
I’m all ungluing.
Language slung-over-shoulder in the manner of satyrs and pan.
A tote in natural tan.
Logo emblazoned.
Heralds of Satan.
Yield great acreage of fires’ fields.
Heal the earth and open seal.
Clap if you can hear me.
Bark your appeal.
Post-human highlife real.
Risen.
Like any other questions.
For the purpose of falling.
You know if you printed all this shit out cut it up and re-arranged it it still wouldn’t make any sense but you would have a mess to clean up which might give you some sense of purpose.
THE IMPORTANCE OF GOOD GOVERNANCE
A seasoned vet.
Salt-and-pepper set.
Silver fixed in night’s net.
Someone’s dying soon.
Va va voom then vamoose.
Cine gulag.
Predicative cues.
Eye accrual.
First and second plural.
I and you all.
THE LITTLE CANTO THAT COULD
Your funny money’s no good here.
I don’t mean to have a laugh at your expense.
The gig is up.
The jig is sawn.
It’s all rigged.
Don’t get me wrong.
Collapsed scaffolding.
Happenstance happening.
Contradicting constellations.
Satellites shattering.
IMAGINE SUEDE AND THEN ROAM THE INTERIOR FRONTIER
He was a bit of a fringe character in the sense that he was A.F.E. i.e. all-fringe-everything and wore appointed and adorned himself in fringed suede jackets a fringed hairstyle fringed boots fringe-trimmed jeans A.F.I. e.e. coming summonedly someday’s best bumbling rummage shop rimjob symmetry poetry in its mimicry inimitable simpleton unidentified skies and flown coop and cooperative the chickenshit roster pitch a cocksure dachsund with its jaws in a lockgrip.
Do you get it yet?
Does it make sense?
Dad, are you coming home?
ONE QUESTION
Am I a hostile host?
Your guest’s as good as mine.
CAMERA WIPE
Open eyes on the files and lips sealed.
Records and reels.
None of it’s real.
Never was or will be.
Ticking clock.
Flee the scene.
THE FUROR IS ALWAYS RIGHT
Mothered murdered or martyred.
In-season.
Dear departure.
Arrest the police and lock up the jailers.
Chambered rounds and judges’ gowns.
AN AESTHETIC
Nerf world.
Meaning is gone.
The physics don’t make sense.
Nothing adds up.
Everything’s odd.
Off.
Sawed-off.
Sod off.
Soporific.
Drain dead.
ᴳᴼ ᵀᴴᴱᴿᴱ ᴳᴼ ᵀᴴᴱᴿᴱ ᴳᴼ ᵀᴴᴱᴿᴱ ᴳᴼ ᵀᴴᴱᴿᴱ ᴳᴼ ᵀᴴᴱᴿᴱ ᴳᴼ ᵀᴴᴱᴿᴱ ᴳᴼ ᵀᴴᴱᴿᴱ ᴳᴼ ᵀᴴᴱᴿᴱ ᴳᴼ ᵀᴴᴱᴿᴱ
→ bluehell.neocities.org ←
ᴳᴼ ᵀᴴᴱᴿᴱ ᴳᴼ ᵀᴴᴱᴿᴱ ᴳᴼ ᵀᴴᴱᴿᴱ ᴳᴼ ᵀᴴᴱᴿᴱ ᴳᴼ ᵀᴴᴱᴿᴱ ᴳᴼ ᵀᴴᴱᴿᴱ ᴳᴼ ᵀᴴᴱᴿᴱ ᴳᴼ ᵀᴴᴱᴿᴱ ᴳᴼ ᵀᴴᴱᴿᴱ
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