Sensory terror

The obvious is atrocious. — Horror is life itself flowing, daylight, breath, warm knives in the sluggish night.

Younisos

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.
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