lee levinson — 5 poems

Written Inside You

Effluent ganache; my breakfast broods your insides
Exiled to self-appointed holding cells
Reconstituted lethean draught
We rattle loss of morn
Amidst encroaching eve
Wresting fleshen pseudo freedom
Our fat, 
defunct as muscle,
Atop the wooden floorboards of slave’s quarters
Our funk flows soon to rot.

I'm Going To Piss Your Pants To Serve Me Right

Emphysematous chortle mocks expanse
While neolithic nephilim bespatter dreadful journ
Ah! The intellect of Satan! 
To trounce the high with shoelaces untied
Boasting infinitesimal refusal of all home
With lack of taunt to suffer any black maiden
Mr. Marmoreal helpless as mother,
Fathers raged orphans of choice. 

Moo For Me

I seek a father for my nodules
Gettin’ good and damned as the adamic race
Badlands of my genital recompense
Fearful of monkish rebirth
Cosmic humor is the notion of reincarnation,
The veins of modernity
Cast weapons from my steele fetish. 

Blue Orchid

Dis drat morn
Thrust through the pigeon coup alight with home
Reprieve of cirrhotic lay, begetting lost light and
Fleshen taunt of none to utter wake
Sticky liquids fumble feasibly rented tiles
Sodden so beyond our means;
We want for nil
Embolismic deities deny my advance
With laughter fit for salvation-iacs
Insufflated by Elysian exile
Do dour my ascent towards crowned servitude
Frostbitten ‘neath the bud
Crosshatched vehemently with sukkah-ed halo
Shrewd capsicum drinks it’s final nail
Dog piss: the rain of resigned gods
When once the turgid tongue did lap
Algolagnic sweetbreads mattress strewn
‘Neath cerulean landmine dotted map
Aphroditic all did crave my hewn
Did drink the revel, abhorred all fluid
Dissection reddened the hand quite crude
Connoisseur of Nada
Eater of all fetid breath
Pierced by branched edelweiss
Dried of sundry death stolen from half breeds
Snarfing dewy sunscapes by dawnlight shadows
I siphon ambrosia as I see fit,
The sole master of quake
Betrothed by black maidens surreptitiously
All aftermath bemoans my gait
Paranoiac fascists reign what was once me
Content with numbing corridors scented with
Katabis trounced in single use socks
Grinning charleton muscular imitation to pass
Corralled because
Breathe demands it's lamb
Lesions of the evening
Float naval mutilations 
Contorting sullied glass barely gripped
Tight as calcified teeth boasting
Razor blades on everything
Awash in salinated bloat
Hands cripple shadow puppets of secular gesture
Velvet coats trickle rain clouds imbued by
The shape of ten days
Scrimshaw etched upon the living
As if marrow granted grace our recompense
Japanese steel shys the food for shivving
Oblivion presumes common sense.

 Empyreal Bray

“If you pet the grave long enough even the purr sounds sweet.”
Our faulty cognisance betrothed the eve
Dipped salinated knuckles in lye to measure the circumference of consumption
Pickles rained so heavy water became the enemy
“The mass grave business is really picking up! I think I'll default on my loans now.”
Another god reared his visage like an ironing board aching
Invention of new names to describe what I’d do to the pious
Is this what they scream for in place of knife wounds?
“At least snake-oil salesmen had the decency to travel further than a foot from their armchair.”
All the more sycophants to filibuster a home cooked meal
Hopscotching guilty scissors in tow to don a gilded tunic
Oblivion: the study of still life laced absentia
“The history of the chaise-lounge is rooted in the fear of your type’s bowels spilling upon the floor In the off chance you dare raise your feet in satisfaction.”

LEE LEVINSON has work in Fanzine, Selffuck, Ligeia, Collidescope and a plethora of other no names. He is currently at work on a novel detailing the many uses of cellophane and tweets @schlock_jaw.