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.
-

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.