Horton-Scorton
Bluelighter
Do you feel like going to my place? She looks up like a mystery girl within an expressionist's blotched canvas, undulating halfway nude and nearly unreadable in face and poise. Glad she has a mind, glad she has the grayed and yellowed hair she has worn since 15 and skeletal. Her needle-ruined arm, her uneven brows, her piercing animal eyes, her classical hellenic nose, her long nostrils flaring wounded, red pink orange and flesh-toned. Bones and woodland shrieks. Peek in her wardrobe and grow woozy in David's phallic fury. Olive, stage one, and rejoice the spectrum that passes cinematic, and second comes a stained greenish ejaculate from our window's receptive cup and in particular its inward spout, which spouts far out, the room's periodic spell craft and offering, the body Sicilian, forged graceful like poison-tinged lover, cosmic and fallen, then oceanic in limb and raw length, and to a thousand seeking eyes appearing feathered branched and dove-thighed. She crawls like a crustacean through the opium smears and breaks out of a thousand shells in sudden and soaring splendor, realized in infant defiance, new, aquatic blue, my baby growing breasted reddish wild, born torn and stretched four ways like a pointed and exact symbol of nature's cornered geometry of man, just like our spirit physicalized. The artist mush-head and severed torso, now defiled now climbed upon, pierced with her tortoise-shell pulsating cock-staff, minerva and saint of the slit, the male creator and violated soul, here lies red, here and now disrobed and striped of all nerve and rib, bleeding bloody dead on grassy flattened soiled earth. Set fire set flame to maypole and breasts, matricide of the eyeless wrinkled crone and echoed testimony of the white-robes that glared, inescapably trance-raped, at the world-shifting slaughter, the sin of the daughter. The clarity of her anatomy and the immediate christlike light that weaves violently from her sculpted abdomen. I want to fuck her and I want to be the snake that tames the buried holed-in vermin, teeth and venom the tools of trade, and I shiver as semen builds and towers rise, chaos whirling naked and YES! let the whole space penetrate the guts of our rules, and then GODS! let me penetrate with every cell gritting and grinning, every atom erect and homeward boundless, then faint and then wake, lively and alive, oh! and collapse fiery and bedded and sucked flat eaten till fluidless, having been laid and laid, with clear aim to conquer the rabid and toothless maid, my will beamed into the temple of deep vision and mixed relentlessly till nausea and salivation, till plummeted upward, sewn up and thrown up into this middle-ground, this manifest orgy of sense, this crude and sexy dance that in its totality of movements composes this shaky glorious WORLD.
