Sunday, 31 July 2016

Mothering The Crises Of Natural Buffets



“Nu de face, dans l`herbe” (Frontal nudity in the grass) by Pablo Picasso (1967)


Blue wrapping gracefully done so to contrast against the white plastic, suddenly bright again
The vision of a repulsive encounter successfully restored on the brick wall
That which belongs to a sad cottage
Where inside an introvert thrives on the oxygen of dead people
Still breathing underneath, gruesome floorboards where debates have evoked foul inspiration 
Relating to sounds of creaking
Notorious, for heating legs
And the calves
Not of the sheep on the doorstep
Desert environment substituting ever-lush, green forest, dense with orchid flowers    
For the purpose of containing bullshit

A people’s crossing seeks the approval of the thinker’s concentration as a green light bulb
Is blinking
A stream of lava, leaks
Into the ocean where most skeletons scatter the premises of mud and mud-sand
Vulnerable cords of a microphone amplify suffering
Along anticipation
Feeds on the memorial among fish
With glistening scales
A scuba diver confuses a coral for an orchid as if confusion of that sort is common
Among the animal kingdom
The octopus sovereigns, via toxins, and is wasteful enough to constitute rhythm

While a similar cottage eats at the ground, regarding a lack of civilization, fluorescent, patient
Always sleeping
Prompting doubt and illness
As the urge to splurge on containers for liquorice
Blood
Flourishes with reason on the watch of the squid a stench consumes the sky where the inmate
Is roasting or roasted
Being its being
That is a wrap
Of white tentacles and lewd suggestion
A good liar is also a lifesaver