Saturday, April 19, 2014
Prose: Brief Maddness
Brief Maddness, By Tao Wells The anger rised, did bleat his blood on fire to the touch of all the senses. Mostly to mind, there did poke a hot slab of heated white hot iron in the eye. To the mind there is no deamon, no god or angel slave. No human half born in this putrid world, of bigotry and exploitation. No soul to worry about carrying like an ipod half wit out of this world, whose little flame in the rain represents the opportunity to put out the hell fires for good, and good little christian chooses to run out of the salvation offered out of choice. No no choice mongst thieves, who steal a piece of hell and hold it to their bossoms like it was a flower, for hungry bees to sting and deflower. There is a calling of the wild so deep that it disturbs the natural born hairs of the natural born sirs, out to lunch sirs out on the crass sirs, a wrist of natural thickness like mine own, arist toc racey, is too that, just enough to take the crown down a too, it was done in my time, and your farthers before. How to take this maddess and leave it to breathe the flame of christ into it’s phantom soul open wide it’s beasty mouth lined with sissors, and set the dusty moth of waters sweet kiss to quench the life a rotten does lie fouled upon this earth time christy chronous. Lip smacking wetness to take her cheek in hand upon the trumpet blow a strumpet of clay your imagination lets go. She a pot smashes and cares not, for the temper that clays her female form in snot. This oven you call hell, in her it is not, the beast with two backs is really one with a rod. Divining dividing one who does not make bread leave the kitchen to back upon the stove. I need madness like the knees need a soul, to kiss the ground. If life comes upon me like a thief and steals my madness I will erupt in foul myself and everyone in it. The peasent watch thy self wipe arse with graces meant for horses, more noble than she, now withered aristocracy a slave. High and mighty has come to earth reigning just behind the eyes a forces bridle. See the world as a system you say, and the head of that system will have you in its eye. You frozen cast feel thys mold. Cut crash thy cord secretly do not awake the patient. We will have it’s throat cut before the mornings dawn, no rush as we wait, in fact suckled here we’ve believed to throng thrive past survive, now the host is paradise. We have done away with sin, worldly possessions worry us not. We have no needs or wants sufficient is our mental weakness, to bend and flex in the noon day sun. as to a field of wheat we would have none, for to stay still is to eat, and to eat is too rare a treat to just eat (so we sing). Eternal sound, lead me on. Character devised from books, carry me, lead me on to where I will be a deposit. Along, a loan, alone, its banks.