InterWritingWiki — Writing Dubuffet’s Titles

Your Last Day

You caught your skin on mine
and I blew up, azure and numb
but not dead yet, just something

akin to filaments aligned with asterisks.
I can't type tabs, you told me, in the markup
lounge where swallows tongue.

I cannot tackle these tags, which switch
on and off and over and out
until something murders rumour, until

functions skitter down your swollen lips.
I'm just stuck. Bleeding
like a Pixel Sphinx...

Black yellow, black yellow
night day, night day. They stack
inside me weighing fingers,
clogging veins. I want
out of here. You want
rich enpebbled text.

With scandals crossed,
their crumpled legs,
the accidental halves
and then my ex.
We were stranded
OpalDaisies. Fucked-lovely,
almost trans-loosened
into chains.

Twist and shine
the lingo loves it.
God-gorgeous
and hot-for-nought,
going at it wallop-wise.

Abreast of all matter
omniscience is eros
desire proclivities invicta
Gloria Harmattan stacked the decks.

WritingDubuffetsTitles | ISBN 82-92428-29-1