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Any
One uninterrupted sound, tremulous, my warped cunt feels syllables syllabled. May I feel a dribbling syllabling the prickliest prickliness tearing the
fissure.
The articulatory throes of death warily giggle a contortion in-between
before and after the point of diphthongal gall, platinum cuntchaos, whoreson
pricker, death of the giggle, April apery, torn fissure, burst vertebra.
I cut my dip tongue-piece in two, sonorous slinky slang, snatched slit, I
cut my vulgar jargon, ludicrously lugubrious vowels -- prick off.
Virulent erectile dysfunction dissecting a 40 watt lightbulb,
lingering mimicries fracturing into a splenetic phonemic tic. Burred diphthong cuntgedicht, tingling twinge, prick up yr ears,
disparaging syllables April me into feeling you paddle my prick shivers.
If indifferent to feeling the impotent malfunction sensation, suddenly
splintering between before or after, balls of syllables, poised eggs, poem
cunt: if I am, I will be two syllables, cunt speech, if I am the egg white
of a lunar cunt in a meadow of pricking spheres.
Cut apart undertones, aural, without a climax, where I change, at the
zenith of orgasm, into egolessness.
Eyes' text enters startled, cutting a syllable.
I feel your snovannyy cunt opening up in my cunt.
I lick my cunt cut prattling, stultifying. I am not a word either: enter.
Finally, loudly oscillating, thorniest throes. Nobody. No one. None. I hear the syllables in your cunt shock convulsions.
Lunatic tmesis cunt speech splintering to enter the contortion, quietly
desolate, eradicating air.
Syllables swallowed, if a cunt is an abrasion, tintinear.
You are a prick, twinge of tinkling, straggly cuntirade. If I am a prick without apogee, pricked without an apex, stung, I am
indifferent to the apish trivialities aping impotent syllables.
Balls of December in April, snatched slot, meadow cunt-screed.
May my cunt dew.
Metal balls, syrupy feeling, syllabic cunt tic. Luna tic egg seed daybreak, syllabic viscosity, orgasm of words, moon
me.
--Bob BrueckL |
