BROKEN PARTS

1. Down on me.
Fretful faces, anguished by their existence. Drugged email boxes, skimming tales of unknown passion. Laces and saliva of death, skewed like glimmering acid. All the words, all the ideas enmeshed in granules.
Down on me.
Mobile messages burring in the wake of night. Myriad mysteries of gaining conscience and yet zeroes down to an imminent sadness.
Down on you, are the all visions of sages repressed in the catacombs.
The blues un-sung.
The alcohol un-drunk.
2. Death and death again.
Its flavor, its narcissism......well stitched in the six yard. Death again, flowered in hydrangeas. Death again, salted in the semen. Death all over the creepers.
3. It doesn’t matter how many syringes traverse through the skin. Contusions of history will be stained in skin. Violet mosquitoes and flying objects- all are the drugs for the doomed.
4. Fugitives are omniscient citizens and I am a refugee from utopia. Clogged, cleaned and hurled in brackets of tales which no one would tell.
5. All the visions are swirling into triangles, their pulchritude are their tops and the melting penises.
Lovers die.
Love lives.
But I walk with you in
My criminal chains, policemen unaware of our escape.