"six hundred cold knives standing up in lunatic sheaves through the fiery dawn"
of flayed oxen
glowing in broken sensory flows
streams of beheaded redheads
pouring in the gray sluice of my torn skull
six hundred cold knives standing up in lunatic sheaves through the fiery dawn
flood of tender thighs
milky blindness around morning light
and my brains
unctuous atrocious brains
licking the blade of tenderness
When a giant blade rises in the sky,
yelling at the sky :
YES ! and fuck you ! sky,
the river of desire
in silence, may vomit
its convulsed scum
its slaughtered melons
young velvety vulvas
and amputated nymphs
and monstrous anal-dildos
Younisos writes what he calls "carnal experimental poetry". He's the author of Carnage Sensitif, in French ; and his upcoming book is in English : Carnal Flux and Sensory Slaughters. He lives in Tangier.
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James Darwin Wilson II (Thursday, 24 November 2016 14:44)
I love your words, Sir. Peace.
Fork (Thursday, 24 November 2016 16:25)
Oh Thank you !
House number plate (Friday, 11 January 2019 12:48)
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fingered isthmus (Tuesday, 25 August 2020 03:37)
jeggled swip adornment
in hovering barracks
downy with finessed kinship.