Dakinakod

I am a DSB player, like gelatin roll-over, color change-overs, shape shifting identity rowers, I sit with false id cards and ransacking bubble vomit lards. Distancing camouflaged urines is what I discharge cause I don’t give a shit about these deep sea grave-yards.
I play only the race card for my pixilated skin immunizes me from these morbid half souls. I change when I want in to a cannibal who chews epidermic differences, those of first sight.
I arrange deaths on command for the few skirmish inferences who thirst for light.
I am a shape shifter, black shade soul kicker, black prey stiff figure chomping with rhino horns and garbage breath. When I charge and morph I charge and arrange.
I physically play with the dark of the deep, I’m the only incredible death whose any original physical I could not keep. I bitter in retreat so I steal their mane, they are all to blame. I walk around with my guilt like a cane, a rush of shame.
Down here we all change into a question, the answer for ever alludes us like the light of a human form. So I make that former human scorn, sipping their human norm like mucus filled vein droppings from a tortured soul.
I can only take if I only take, their transient souls I gurgle in my lipid mouth taking in their identity like stilling house.
But these houses were long gone, In this poison of the dark unkept, the void of the restless. We shuffled our freefall only to land in a tube of transience
To all who wish to be me, a half being who sifts the remains of a lifeless group, whose transparent arguments are a series of lamentations, whose forthright rests in a conclusive murder and disregards, don’t betray your ridiculous living, for mines is forever the evening goodbye.
I am Different Shades of Black, running this here misery in the smack of poverty, our richness once intrinsic, pandemic in a continent of primaries now like a lost lyric, euphonic and once reigning, decayed and now panting.
So you see I don’t hope or hope in the questioning of Others, if I want I take with no remorse for lovers, fuck all you heard I am the deepest brother.

Little Acar

We dwell on the bottom of the oil black canvas,
Where transparent Billipeds, parent their off springs, the Millipeds,
Where the café serves micro soups, with fermented deoxygenated five inch long hairy snails, highly juice and known for their soft and moist exteriors.
My mother a half breed, both West-Bolognial and North-Precalate. The star shaped stomach changes from neon purples to iridescent greens, attracting the Archapilics, the constant sex crazed loose springs.
I dodge their penetration, hiding in the mallet shaped Orchikes, a gigantic dread like head poiseness to over Sexed Fins.
My immature erection arouses no alarm, as it waives its dreaded arm. We are Akuakians
The bottom is black but not dark. The star-ghosts, a numerous bunch, light an orange-cream colored ooze, which in unison spreads like spilled spaghetti lighting the dark into a visible fire, even if it is always night.
In the salty underbelly my father creeps, hunting with his spinal back elongated into a predator tale. His black blue lips, hide well and kiss better then they look, my mother bubbles about when she got hooked
His flat nose spreads underneath his massive hide, in the bottom universe, this menacing sign of his once pride. When he fully spreads he’s like a man-ray, one sharp arrow, cutting the water deep, spreading it thin and making it decide.
I have his brooding countenance and sharp dark gelatin eyes, bruised raised hump butt, and harp like vein sprouts, which grow with my ever increasing lies. The known prince of these morphing caves, absorbing delicate supple secretions we’ve come to dispense.
Everything here feeds on everything here, the pointy One-Tooths hide in erected snake like sculptures, called Slimdicks, their frosted stiffness behooves a perfect camouflage. You would think their dead, but nothing dead lives here, spreads fear, and sheds tears.
My best play area is the magnifying blankets, they appear once every third star shine, feeding on the spaghetti confetti, engulfing them like high tide, a transparent magnifying glass surface, malleable and serene, cautious and with no spleen, a contouring cloud pouring ecstasy, it is my fun house.
And there’s my friend Alugar, always present before he’s seen. Yes we smell, our arcane abodes a fermented spread of our reeked waste and here some dispense more then others, some worse then lovers. We trouble shoot this infested night life. Him and his crusted bread skin forehead, pot belly gut with visible intestinal curvatures losing their plantacidic waist, greenafying the odoring hull, I see him before my eyes are on him. We laugh about our smoldering dull.
But here we lay and here we stay, this is my home and where I play, until this night turns day or my life gives way to hungry One-Tooths or our bodies rot in the simmering black of decay.