Robert Chrysler

Dadagram #11

this creation disarray postulates to carry an ideal waxing, viral,
sputtering, arrogant blank proviso taxed, providing cosmically atop
ceaseless praying, storms wavered visceral organics throughout our
harness cheeks pink and slaughtering animals on the angular steps
of the real.

operatic theater bones, gristle being the last rhythmic icon
inviting solace that without manifesting peddles old wounds,
forgetting its buoyancy to break crates flower in the rays of the
wicked procreating channel sleeping amidst editing and flaming,
idiotic chorales felt through wind-swept repetition glitched errors
crafting psyche.

made mistakes along not travelling upon work gossip clocked
at beef around passes over ricocheted prose torn from dead hands.
circulating, cycled then to situate can be strong indents, irises
for sale reliance mounts our passivity flying two wisps of array
sung red and clotting.

reading kisses fire potentially abrogating a mercurial stipulation
referencing a last name, noumenon a flailing child's plausible cascade
vents per equaton targeted like frozen hegemony, a wondrous slab of meat.
allegorically full and complete arched a bit, so-called as pondering the
rites injecting charcoal democracy swallowed about libertarianism interns
aggregating domain minds yawning agape with stolen fuel deposits hidden,
grateful, promising salvation.

Rot of Form

Rot of form.
Animals and instruments disintegrate
the slime of creation, a world of metaphor that
harbours swallows' nests and corpse-white lizards.
Totality tattoed places where men go about
their lives gnawing metal at the bottom of a glass.
Aerial frequencies grin.
The borderland slowly launched time as linearity out
of the whole fauna of human fantasies, the marine vegetation
inhabited by a divinity. Volume's light lulled angels to sleep.
Constantly shifting meat-hook prayers
fractured collective marks of I and I, a flaccid praxis
in reflection. Punctuated rust fell

from equations of glass, always
a deviant gesture. Philosophy, linguistics
are capable of revealing secret motives, modern
light becoming the nuts and bolts shown beneath a lifted skirt.
The six in our sin boarding unformed genitals,
promising a world of new wonders.

Surfaces bounce arbitrarily and section analysis citation rays
converging beyond structural basalt tasting of mace allow periods
to pierce the context of sense-data. Forget the characteristics
of certainty. A chill, imperious exhilaration dipping
money in oil without any fear of patches of radiance, flashes
of light not yet stripped of their furs,
brilliant, restless mysteries gone to each one.

Intake: One

...the overthick night threaded with dour jewels,
exclusive and divine. Rusty clocks battering her
sallow, pocked skin.
Televised innuendo scraped ravines of truth sitting in silence.

Put up against a dilapidated red-brick wall, marron nails
blazing love through dense, acrid air, wet lips smiling wanly
every now and then.

The ambience: vitrified, no longer responding to external stimuli.
Singular Qabalistic embroidery etched itself on barley-blonde hair,
sending laced psyches slamming into market violence. Holes in black
leather pants syncopating the various agendas of the beat.
Like carcass.

The roar of traffic gambled away the rawness of rusted spoons, magnificent
beads of bliss. Her only response was to weep golden ostrich feathers. exotic addition to any cherished collection.

Her voice turned nodes of capital to dust.
Labyrinthine code gilded her every step into reality.
Babylon opened shop beneath one of several bridges she owned,
where she regularly sang fever-dreams into nullity,
coffin voidness in the mazes of the city.

Laughing flesh is digital.

Robert Chrysler is an inspired subway-ranter from Toronto, Canada. He enjoys challenging capitalist property relations, trying to figure out what the post-structuralists are going on about, and dreams of someday living in a tree.

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