IZZYNEES AS OOZUNAL
(Spanak Finger Backyard Drilldex for you!)
By: Dom Maltempi
Written in the exciting times of the true beginning of the end of the shit-worlders Traipse through the rotting creamy corpse of the ……but the data shows that these fluctuations are cannibal roses that bulls have been known to throw at Matadors still peeling themselves from the sound bits of ebullient applause…..but how will the end bleed
and on what Da-dra?…..ok my little children pray?
Does anyone need a hand that has a hand feeding them?
Dappled sweetly nectar skin
playing with their burning tongues
open up
open up
zomblicks get their cash infusions
Unky Screwyou’s unbuckling to improve us
He will make you love your walls
Raze them for the better all
Sacrifices are for sacrificed ones
Need not be some comely new diviner
Or a captured neophyte forced to quit
After the free lessons expired credit lines will move for necks
2. Bendy legs and jokey suitors
moves of slack faced propped
Protector-intruders
feed all the hyperventilating
glibby boiler plate asseverating
for snoozy recharge sooty hustle
relax those post underworked muscles
razed to crumbles
For rich coffin-cakes sucked down with gritty mugs of tampered fog
for quailing index beauty harlots
to part
their miracle musky legs
in Dow-Dax-neeky 400 quakes
Moody Moody how will you grade?
flunk the corpses
bonus torches will celebrate incinerations
you know those ashes need new ways to get a pay day
3. Commuting scarecrows
mash their perfect teeth
into a wet paste of prayersqueeze
for dividen-ded angel-squeak
endings endings bells and cheers
Check out the snoozed-news for new alarming data jingles
tightly closed mouths feed us
breifcased Brutus sardine-Ceasers
Gauntly-juiced regalia floats
held aloft by servant kings
one day reversals followed by disemboweling
tickling knives can’t cut the papery tumors
stand in stand ins…discount codes
Retirements meet CDOs
big returns and bigger dirt scoops funneled into holes
4
keep them idle, catching up
keep them grinning with the next top
humiliating this or that at 8 or 9….
talking robes and singing night caps
the land of rewind-it-right was cloned
from merry-merry storied what what….
Foment worthless rows between spurious foes
we can step in asset shit storms with equanimity
because those blue boots are hitting towns
after an abyss gets bored
its baby jaws reform with brio
bitting at the newest low point
terra-gotcha—nadir-stompers
while the others fought themselves down
to me-squashed cadres
lips wet enough to blow a screwy trumpet
Blue squad boots
have promised to make the stink not stink
but the roots stay sinuous
fetid wallops swinging freely
back to a time where Galen humored
a need for leaching
such oozy succor
saysoothers at the Hill
you will know
lend
pissy wind for Auntie Sandstorm
grooms the ruins, dusts the mints
you can fail if you are handpicked handsome
proud we were to fight for Pickled wisemen
deep freeze a fire built up
when we were too young to hide
from all the knowledge we would need
running down the scarring faces
of
our bloody hero head cases
and their bank-bum-buddy’s mouthpiece