Six thighs

 Flesh is silence ... enlightened. Cold pale butt. My fleshy computer stinks, oozing thick bloody lust and shit. Boozing up-skirt the gelatinous is cumming. Sucking the flow ... cushy in my corner, blessed ... Now in scarlet light, I'm singing the strange apparition that Julie and I have lived on southern highway : beheaded redhead, blue eyes ripped by Julie... Milk gushing from throat cut beyond the sweetness of her divine pig. Large knife always yelling. Six young thighs around Zoco Chico.

Scarlet streams

streams of broken ribs 
gutted fruity nymphs
meaty slanting flow
flooding gurgling
sap 

dappled mornings
whining milk
creamy hole of light

nude chestnut moon
quivering rectum

— Bone impaling the frail soft skin
of the present

Anal azure

When a giant blade rises in the sky,
yelling at the sky :
YES ! and fuck you ! sky,

the river of desire
in silence, may vomit
its convulsed scum
its slaughtered melons
young velvety vulvas
and amputated nymphs

and monstrous anal-dildos
dreamed
in
Salò.

—

Quand une lame géante se lève dans le ciel,
criant à tue-ciel :
OUI ! et fuck you ! le ciel !

alors le fleuve du désir
peut, en silence, vomir
son écume convulsée
ses oranges égorgées
ses jeunes vulves
veloutées
ses naïades amputées

et ses coïts anaux
rêvés
à
Salò.

-

Extrait de CARNAGE SENSITIF de Younisos

https://www.edilivre.com/carnage-sensitif-younisos.html

Sensory panic

Those who admire Sade and Bataille did not eat any excrement.
—
As for me, I swallow large gulps of cerulean shit 
drinking panic in flesh and solar blades 
my gut on sensorial nerve-breaking table
my skin stretched along a warm vomited afternoon
squeaky cartilage on the scarlet thread
dislocated rush
my erect bony body
on basal tremor
sensory marrow in primal flood.
—
And when I scream (frightening my neighbours)
I disgorge spurts of bright tortured beauty
ejected in mad gushes
on the silence of my stolid walls.
-

Carnage sensitif

 CARNAGE SENSITIF, the  new book of Younisos 

Prose and poetry

Maybe the bloodiest book written in Tangier since Naked Lunch.

If you read French, here is a wild delirious dionysian book...

 available  on Amazon :

https://www.amazon.com/Carnage-sensitif-French-Younisos/dp/2332741224

Bony madness

a radical blade extends its iced platinum

on sawn skulls —

huge eggs

crimped marrow

mad cartilages

erect bone breaking up heavens

flabbergasted guts

puke their meaty screams

on lymphatic aphonia —

flat ribs

blown gelatin

stillborn green sky

crippled fractal twisted smash

and my frightened glands

fall apart

in ionic cracklings

slicing the synaptic song

of dismembered aesthetics —

cold breast

sidereal gristle

bony phallic killing

slashed immanence

The silence of the thigh

a thigh a thigh as it appears enlightened where the verb disappears into the muteness of the thigh abyss on silence and screams bloom in skin and curves through azure steaks and sliced breasts are quivering sidereal dissolution into bowels chaos of light spouting fury  meaty colour shut up forget about psychoanalysis destroy screens withdraw your eyes from the swarm  of speech be silent  I planted the fork in the thigh and blood spurted three large scarlet drops on pale flesh  three red rivulets that I savoured on the thigh with my tongue in bright flowing delight the pale obscenity of a smooth ass  brightens my intimate atrocity  in my  glowing skull  the light (suffused with crime) strips off  the ultimate meat a thigh a thigh the sensory killing sings in sharp twists and quiet night lying through placid milk

Interzone 3001

Hanging on the solar hook

of blind limpid sky,

a huge flayed ox

is crying

his thick

scarlet

tears.

Eleven bikini nymphs

wiggle

under the red rain

in September.

Dionysus snatches his heart

and throws it to the Maenads of the Web.

A juicy redhead

shits her milk

on the slaughterhouses

of

Interzone

in 3001.

The ax of Aesthetics

falls down on a nightclub

full of round  skinned thighs ...

— In my bed,

a huge flayed ox

is lying,

crushing  the tender breasts

of my slashed milky girl.

Sweet sweet massacres

Blood
lights up in azure.

Earth cries her paranoid sap.

Poetry is slicing the thighs of tenderness.

Creamy naiads
refresh
the fluffy hole of anal roar.

Thus,
my phallic skull
is singing
the sensorial immanence
of
sweet milky massacres
and
burning streams of silence.