Silence in Interzone

Dazed I descend

the slope that ends

in drowsy mazes

of Interzone.

Open to quivering cracks,

to the slumbering filth

in half-light,

I slip in the stench of alleys,

and I penetrate languid dead ends,

when suddenly emerges

a young bewildered,

lips trembling,

hungry look.

— Come on ! she screeches,

I'm torn !

torn ...

Lifting up her dress

she shows me the paleness

of her thigh,

and she shuts up.

And I faint

in carnal silence.

The silence

of her thigh.

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.

Lethal light

A bloody jelly

pours from dilated synapses

of chubby dreams

with strawberry

and busty bright cream

and clear screams —

and shrill slices of light

and pale eruptions   

of round deadly tits.