Carnal flux

hordes
of flayed oxen
glowing in broken sensory flows
—
streams of beheaded redheads
pouring in the gray sluice of my torn skull
—
six hundred cold knives standing up in lunatic sheaves through the fiery dawn
—
flood of tender thighs
milky blindness around morning light
…
and my brains
unctuous atrocious brains
licking the blade of tenderness  

by Younisos

Cut-up on deep throat in the sky

Cut !
cut it up
silent cum
sidereal throat
cerulean blowjobs
bits of howling melon
viscera on the horizon
wild murderous sausages
cruel schizophrenic rump steak
blind giant bone fucking the moon

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.
-

Younisos in the CUT UP Anthology

I'm thrilled  to have a text included in CUT UP!, the amazing anthology edited by Antony Hitchin and Joe Ambrose.
My contribution, "Self Cut-Up in Tangier", is a bloody cut-up on my own texts.

http://www.paraphiliamagazine.com/oneirosbooks/cut-up-2/

http://www.amazon.com/Anthology-Inspired-Cut-Up-William-Burroughs/dp/1291745920

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.

Aesthetics of carnage

-
My belly is a voracious beast, eager to tremors ;
it pukes strings of atrocities
gulps of tremulous terror
and sensual anxiety
without any purpose —

just for the killing joy 
for the sensorial massacre
and the terebrant chant
— and the scarlet hole
in the skull
of the present.
-

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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.