POETIC ANARCHY

Yuppie zombie cults with gurus in their eyes. No thinking. No perception. No meaning.

Are you waiting for the revolution? An approved uprising? Turning the wheel of history to nothing more than mutated nightmares of the State…

I dream of a chaos ashram where yellow turbans are splashed with gasoline from burnt out cars. The sodomy is barren as we jump start the burned out pick-up truck and pick our teeth in the autonomous zone.

My border area permits allow me to roam from Bengal to the Ganges. From the Sahara to the Niger Delta. From Kali to Yuga… algae stains have ruined my tongue as it swells dripping with monsoon clouds and the ceiling fan splatters bloody slimy vomit onto the mirror, skewing my reflections!

Her DNA sits in the garbage post abortion as he licks his lizard tongue over fresh meat hissing,

WE ARE ALL MURDER.

Do we not want to stand on the grounds of abolished laws and feel priests guts squish between our toes? Do we not want to confront THE power?

The wilderness, the tribes, the hunger, the taboos, are all paradise,

even now

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