SHORT PIC ABOUT KILLING

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PETRARCHAN SONNET on DIWAKAR cruising

Diwakar’s Rosebuds

Gather ye rosebuds, my friend, while ye may,
Said a young man now in his entombed bed,
Diwakar got up with inspired head.
Never had he combed the hair that there lay.
Now, rosebuds in his eyes, chance on his side,
Clipping his nose hair, combing sprightly bush,
Stripping his moustache and scrubbing his tush,
Revving his engine, cruised for a one night bride.

Long tresses, slick face raced his stubby buff,
Eyelashes spread long and tight firm booty,
Preferably a down and out starling.

Women they stared, his extravagant puff,
Men they dared a mate to call him fruity,
His slinky night bride, a man called Darling.

shadow path

their eyes dyeing.
a coloured man's shadow.
WHite.
To accept him.

BULLFROG DEATH

He looked down, his head heavy,
onto his swollen throat,
deformed/overformed.
A bullfrogs pride maybe.
A magnificent pouch maybe
Bloated words maybe.

But his jaw would not fall.
His neck could not turn downwards.
He could have laughed throaty,
head to the sky, a free deep laugh.
His swollen throat would allow it. It would pass its scrutiny.

But he hadnt laughed like that .
For 5 years.
It plagued him, his fat, fleshy piece of force field.
The human -shunner.
The overgrown bully who kept the world away.
That bull, nagging, nudging blob,
that makes him feel false pride,
His nose being forced up into the air.

But I can say one thing.
He fulfilled a wish he had for the last 5 years.
When he took,
A blade and ripped it open.

heart specialist

Neck bent like a listening bison.
strangled fingers with familiar silver.
White knuckles, splitting red.
thread of blood on his face
hard red, wet red.
That sprays across my eyes .
As i spring lithe.
Thrust across his chest.

NOthing like the smell of fresh heart
first thing in the morn .

HAIKU

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Roof-hung linen white.

For grey,attacking cloud is,

A banner of truce.

cruel bugle

Why does the bugle blow in this age?

When the sirens dance red and blue?

And shuddering electricity spits out music.

cuz I hold the fuckin bugle.

Its animal roughness in my hand.

I wait to be saved.

Like Ivanhoe caught goin down shit creek without a paddle.

They told me to blow it .

As loud as I friggin could.

So I am .

Blowing on the fuckin thing so hard my lungs are bursting.

But there is no one.

The jungle I live in, green tongues licking at me.

Waiting to eat me.

All that’s left is the bugle.

It sways and hiccups. It beats and bangs

And smacks and duds, stabs and thuds.

But they roll me in their wet folds.

They curl around my eyeballs,

My jaws and teeth bite down on their fuckin ignorance.

Green blood mixes with red.

Red and green.

My flag of death,

sickly black wet death.