toilet door poetry

these dirt words written like burnt static

this feline closure of secretion; a rhythmic stirring. NOW OPEN!
a creaking mention of all the corporate smirks and stations. FRESH!

she's tackling the real meanings of language. SALE!
a feral sound; the splash of bipolar recognition. SALE ON NOW!

here your fabled triple bottom lines weeping into the viability of sex.
recorded in plasma screen units - of excreta. PAY NOTHING FOR SIX MONTHS!

they said in unison:
jesus was never a backdoor liability;
a free-radical solution.
an elementary ablution;
a diametric sedition.

yet here a pool of battered cloth at my feet;
a question on his lips

an answer at my loins;
a new door to contemplate

--

antipoet-allanboyd JAN06

fine line benign DRAFT

and i'm walk'n the fine line
yeah hav'n a rough time

between reality and distance
from duality of existence

i'm a corporate capital psycho-swiller
a fair dinkum plasticine shoot-em-up driller
a hardkore censored cereal killer

for god/
man/
mind/
body/
split

this cripplin flick
of murder
and lust
and drivetime fortitude

a gastronomical phallacy
are ya fed up and pantied like graffiti
without me, or are ya with me, with me, with me
in this a hydro electric chicken farm

and we beef up for the biosphere
eatin biscuits of lard coz the skin is too hard
too fast; too strong; too fancy; too like like that

in ragged stripped packets of cloth
in handfulls of jagged stocks

oh yeah baby baby

rising
and
falling
in the ether of climate change hellfire

but HEY
i'm twisted like the colonic dripper
like a magna-style peak oil tripper

and that boris,
is a toon thats like oh so ripper

and warney does the flipper on a clandestine clipper
a personal mentor and a mobile resistance to the global economy

there they go
makin fun o me

again
and
we spill

the
rest
into
gutters

and spit bits of woodchips
on each others'
crack in the fabric grips
weep fists in this chiselled strain

this
corporealistical,
a genuine statistical
stain

of a dead life