Originally Posted by Atticus

"Eden's Garden of Hearts"

That last withering blink sinks
into the grasp of linking lashes
and said never again will this iris
dance in such a glimmering fashion,
but rather, latter the Mad Hatter
from the rabbit's cavernous palace
to patternless grounds of valance
to decorate the stage of Val Halla.
To the blind the beauty is mind,
use of which is the fuse lit to find
such is the handicaps last stance.
So the dams are barbed and roped,
and the man of smiling scars holds
to find the art of design in a mile of hope.

Closes his eyes, gulps three times;
tries to lose his sight as the light
pries through loops and writes lines
along side the wide end of his noose,
as he resumes a fast descent through
the brain's metal chutes again
....... to conclude in hallucinogens.
Takes that last step left of sane
and dances the fence that intersects
two hemisphere of queer from the brain.
Started there, deceiving ones self meaning
to transcend reason and land pardoned
...................... In the Garden of Eden.

Hollow feet follow eachother past east,
down the serene semi-round frown
that detached from a blown glass sea
of navy blue to meet with gold in piece.
The two interlocked, as blue rocked
its new love to sleep, then the two stopped...
Locked lips fast in a fit of passion
as the two both fell to yellow grass limbs,
and upon Blue's last thrust he knew...
Kissed her cheek and whispered, "I Love You."
Defined sections of their love streched on
along the lost skies shattered white eyes,
As from earth I saw the birth of a spectrum.

Waved good-bye to my dien' days
with a racing mind pacing the woods,
and as that last second danced away,
a man was blessed with death as
the hands of God unlocked the gates.

Originally Posted by Atticus

"Pioneer, the Stereo Type"

Ground connection to central
Fore; head the database.
Information races itself
To paint a blank cortex
With rhythm enigmatica;
Cerebellum babble on: idiot.
Choking on commercial everyday
While coughing blood diamonds;
Syringe tipped fingers
Continue to tickle individuality.

Sipping bittersweet polyphonic;
Catching kisses on broken tracks
Before this train of thought
Derails along superficial parallels...
Into the comfort of toxin
Tipped record needles we go.

Grin little idiot, think we not.
Sick-brained bastard mothered
By the subtle of cancer;
A prescription a day keeps
The heart beat away, swallow hard.

His words thumping through
Hollow canals as the rapids
Step across 5th category.
The river, Muse, continues
To take on waves as sound
Floods a watered-down stage.

I built this home from a
Deck of cards with charred edges
And double stacked my heart
In the center of the pile;
Pressed my ear to another's
Heart beat as this house
Tumbled into stacks of
Misshapen paper cuts.

Backstroking the ashes
Of cohesiveness, the pseudo
Intellect paints a pretty face
For the industrial prostitute.
I'll smile for the camera until
My tears blur the line between
We and self.

Hammer away, chisel and
Makeshift stigmata.
Make this misshapen ball
Of clay the bust that gets
A dollar bill to the G-string.

Hammer! Hammer! Hammer!

Yes! Drive that stake through
My broken skull and continue
To fuck me over again and again!
When you're done, lick the plate
Clean with a serpentine pass;
Drag that jagged tongue across
My empty head until all that's
Left is a delighted hiss!

Mmmm, sweet uncontrol.
Balancing across the tight rope
Crooked smile...
A stroke of art is the only act,
As two dilated pupils inhale
Static while the AV cables
Plug into the hardheaded.

Take my picture little black box.
I'll smile for the birdie while
The generate watches a
Massacre of contemporary art,
After the dollar bill hills
Are extinguished and common
Sense is no longer excepted
In the arcade personality.

Voodoo Child bleeds from
Deaf ears of generations swallowed
By the flames of latter-day
Stars and Strata casters.
We are the children, voodoo
Speaker box prop my paper doll
For proper instillation.

I'll sleep in this bed of snakes
With every fang playing
Another swollen note,
And this stereotype will break
The charts as all the dolls
Master their plaster manifesto.

We'll revert to fetal positions
From the wombs of black speakers;
Head bobbing back and forth
Breathing on the drop of cracked needles.