07 November 2002

some of my anti-poetry from the bullshitart egroup - writers from tina02 - newcastle.nsw.au
go here: www.thisisnotart.org
read more: www.bullshitart.blogspot.com
u can contact me: allanboyd@bigpond.com


always vote for new world apathy

why good drones yell no alternatives; ezy conformity in this apathetik mindset.
never seek clear shift; deep swallow mono-core surface; cancerous existence;
they eat coins, blades of north korean grass: yr brickfaced expression feeds none.
yr rancid flesh kills her soul. takes it hard n blind in corners. says, beat the poor.
all swollen hands to the machine-corp robots. wasted to the rotten core.
shopping with yr nova jesus crown. never shout yr global vs local greed;
yr bend over tactik. yr salivating burger fingers; always drool at perfect skinned illusions.
this trolley overflowin with all-colours sharp n dollar flavoured lipid fat shit.
tolerate the thick hard rod. we crush chidren with policy; incarcerate the victims
of socio-economic white-bread democracy: failure. of un-represent.
and these beautiful lawns heal poverty; cancel money-fuck humanities.
see these babies drown in elaborate sprinkler solutions: pacific redundances
unable to deal compassion; feelings; respect. love and you.


symbiotic poker grease

weeks down the track they spill faggots from utterance. spend hard.
they ate barrels of stacked rhymes. angry-horsed franchise in cleo-core sales.
took months to score bad speed dreams. shake off this instant suburban grit.
i spent the best five minutes of soap in porn-star fragments. fast-track sprinkler.
we wake/come in each others lunchtime guns. bold at god's house. neon growler.
so cold at pregnant caramel streams. then godot got on buses, drifts eager.
writing poems about sexy grams; toasters n yoyo brand greencorps.
breakbeat rollerdoors ogled in transit. mince-scapes n kite-dreams n corkboard drama.
they tore organs n slept all week. waitin for the cream bomb. oncology is my religion.

[bullshitart] neostalin bibleshop demorapist v0.1a

sometimes we forge childlike into crucial blind fences,
loud banners locked up blonde on red distractions.
temp slogans for the corporate drones. bots for banks.
hidden filth in dole-like kitchen stanzas: white-hot blue killer strides,
severed fat fingers; gulfed out on teenage kitten pulp.
septic cluster bombs wrecked-up in channels of blood-lust islands
i gave up sex n death for jesus-chips. we ate hard desert folicles.
those random daisy-cutter children bash flags. rendered black gods n faithless.
we ate money shaped like democracy shells. representing charcoal bitches.
sometimes its wet stripes n stars n blood n fear in her pleading.
like bushes of standard death; bolt-on tears n suicide machines for god.
we lack teeth some days and pound out regret; towers of none.
wept in human cushions n bodybag breezes. wipe here. collapse.
the taste of baby meat is never strong. he is never really content.
less oil becomes cruder by the nanosecond. coming. now. fold-in.


[bullshitart] galviniser: fleet-style

they strode rich-beats in violent redline streaks - rockgods in brine.
left it bold for chablis n coconuts n channeling n christ sneezes;
breathing hot loose disco-slices - tossed-off brittle car-parts for bacon bones.
without tv now; she chased fortunate sheep til spring came in her face.
on her back, we ate hip-hop in mass doses of crazed film school hipppies;
i left several franchises in total freedom; wary of bali tanks. cheque-book art.
cold-hard slashes on robot skin: this homeboy gave bloodspot typos.
at school we spelt thousands wrong. then eat my in-house jesus cock slow.
i robbed em. we sleep in brackets. losing each second inside her.


[antipoet-remix] [bullshitart/kelly-lee]

brush under weavin, clouds of bi-polar mass;
feel this easy line of view. faceless-picture walls;
swallowin warhols like mangoes - magnets here;
like your eyes, half inflated drool-scapes;
cask-wine and floor-poetry puddles of her hair.
layin time like self esteem; like cunt-carpets
bleedin my lonley circle-hands
bare rush holds; this head-on anti-emotion
overtake my touch; your knotted skins within my back.
when I ran my fingers thru yr dizzyness,
harder ground beneath made fallin easier
kind pays kindness nothin ceases to exist.

[antipoet-remix] [bullshitart [with sleep filled eyes - miss megan]]

wakin up a different bed - so over town now.
linen-homes change swift; sneaks out bluelight suburbs;
perpetual wake in solid side-door slide-hum.
those streets begin navigating ways, poor styles credibility.
drift choices go far here in town. this sex-addiction calms rubbish.
they try to feel somewhere; remembin time is perpetually late.
but bruised hair kills: hard sun breaks beat directions.
all those sub-early joggers glance/squint curious.
never upset first time rushes for her love of mammals.
neck tousled in twisters. know it won't last into carjack frenzy.
she gets deeper, lust in drinkin crawls; breathe his nectars.
we read slogans on labels n die slow.
she fucks the best parts of these years