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I sleep I sleep and Loathing

Jean Jacques Andre

I.

The storm begins with snow, the bells are ringing
,
winnow the hours and our sleep is

after the storm after it was still softer, more
wild and sweet, your breasts
flush fur.


II.


Nightmare skull, sky and language,
Verdi's face it rejected the ghost faded
closing my eyes to see better, better
mirror and the eye marriage
life is theater - the iris of dreams because
we can still die mime

With you I die beautifully,
by inventing other firsts
fear and puppet
then she spoke with a
flavor that does not exist on my tongue
a dry scene, which
s orchestra golden
Rest.


III.


When any circus, New France,
singing evokes Baroque,
virus in the night you come with me,
beyond the life we do drama
the shadow of thy thighs kidneys miraculous
Then it was a kiss that night evokes
then it was a leaf tan any dead
was my hand on the bottle
your heart tiara
and you, my beautiful skin port and suicide
your voice that opened Callas
enjoyment drunk like a star, the
mime dream dreams and your bare hands on my heart
yours
beating our hearts beat together
fighting with bare hands


IV.


I missed my glove, "she said,
A large black glove, plays yoke
the game is a dream true,
I am looking for the lost glove, Flemish
of his voice and flamenco
she spoke in signs and sophists
sophisticated.
I do not have time to recover,
I said.

Jean Jacques Andre

V.


Your mouth brooding like a brain enlarged
all this opium that eats wealthy
we smoked strawberry nose,
legibly and oh! live, sleep
syringes, Joy Division,
your kidneys through which the dawn
on your breasts olives my hands together
saliva
on your skin vertigo vaccine
you alone I hear that
I mean drinking
sailing as a police siren as a factory
orgasms whines
amorosa and spelling of codeine
our hearts compelled

Your whining is an organ
speeders when our eyes ablaze Fellini
all alone in your
any spineless cowardice in your drinking bouts
you and you alone and naked emotion
your vulva was bawling like a swallow kills
orgy
crying still desires ocean
s'hallucinent hours before us and we
color mascara mask will
,
a caress us as backward and perverse
London bed shadows
latex
cigarettes and tears you cry tears
that rocked back and wine
enjoy your doll in wax

Before dying lures, this small

excruciating syncopation in your eye and fierce and strong,
I loved all your stories very sweet, but not
crazy trip, more souls aristocrats, and high
psychopaths,

Which of us is more myth
than the other?


VI.


You're grand arrival, pink,
in a big loose robe,
extraterrestrial green
and France,
dance, dance,
pink and black and white.


VII.


I do not know who I am,
do you know?

skinned soul we heartily enjoyed your mango
Eve tambourine
atmosphere that bass, fuck, that
tambourine,
behind the mist of our sweat eucalyptus
with my finger I traced
your name,
on your body with my finger,
all the names in the world.


VIII.


The snow has closed on time, maybe
bells thunder
hours empty as gold, sage
our door,

after rabies after it was even crazier.

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Lerock

Monsters, between midnight and midnight requiem
on your skin, a rich charcoal extreme, your skin
pious twenty-first century, knowingly gather,
and a hundred years without the baroque angel to
the windy, ice and October the bone
in France, your skin Bastille, sugar marriage
and sings
a prison whose bars are made of a symphony
suicide

But your hymen huge, which unpacks liar who
décarcasse, struggling in the night swarthy
mine
dance and dance to the body sick with fever,
bathed in the warm bath,
cigarettes and latex
frail at heart: I was lucky
strangles me a promise that everything blotting exorcises

S'étrange and tongue, my dear, as once beautifully,
your absence there taboos aorta
I remember as the day after a night in
smoke leaves,
mother smiles and laughs vile
bodices and petticoats fluttered, and time
games like butterflies who have drunk too much

Time now mine and railway
I pray out loud, cigar
on the railways what were your legs,
Mango
on the mattress, an Indian, sitting, seekers,
I miss your Pacific oceans
bale blind and onlooker, on the mattress,
Amidst the wave that crushes your memory
to saliva AIDS, if only
Love makes Borges

And I drink to impossible collections,
the light wax miracle
counting orgasms before falling asleep
monsters in you intertwines, fierce,
Mango
between me and me and fingers, arabesques,
enjoy- sucker me in the day I married

distracted by the year of your eyes in your throat
dagger jellyfish, mists and sonatas,
and mausoleums of your lies immolate,
in an evil hour I rang, I live just
,
live in other industrial fires,
melancholy cries of your winter
you breathe sulfur queen of my dreams

When very drunk, j 'went scintillating
your thighs to Pharaohs and tender, tenderly, as
again j'absinthe and gold blades in
more suffocating without you
the sweet burn your neck coffin
your neck mad, mad, and owls
syllables in your eyes if valve
between your legs, I proceeded jaguar, where I flew
thief

You talk with your mad smile tawny wine, you speak without
true
I forgot the taste of your mascara so your tears as
mints

Cold, silent, hymen liar, liar,
the rage of fireworks, prisons as lovers
and run, run,
far, far,
your skin, your skin
I washed in time to say


Since I got myself a finger in mourning, I washed the
ink.

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Kissing on the corner of a pigeon

Sam Haskins

1.

I know you fingertip
we love each other and
we will make Index

2.

You and Me

Martini flowers and live
I have drunk a glass two

3.

Wetness iPod and abracadabra
we loved in trouble
own - my Beautiful! my Belle!
And we came out of the laundry
as we leave the wardrobe

4.

Arm and bra underneath
Staggering front and fever

a 4 and 1 \\ 2
I inserted the key into the door like a ghost
Sale of lies my great proletarian, I've my fair
bought a bunch of cirrhosis

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Mango (4)

Inez

Lent.

Mango, it was cool school: mint with his little finger, it blunted his sex, tender, oratory, with a more peaceful and extraordinary, radiant as a midday vacation.

Thousand mandolin danced yet sweet, the breeze at one of his tear. Especially on days of light rain, when her cheeks were playing her, pencil-flush pore pink to thrill. Her skin

queen of dreams, supreme in its brilliance already chaste, sacrificing himself an immense somnambulist intoxication. Almost from childhood and whimsical, lips with raspberry jam, escaped from her perfume ocher leaves a scent once sublime, but soon windy. Moved

, exhilarating sex in all poetry, she was hiding, stealth and ugly in the cracks of silence. She dared to get lost, mundane as a grand piano in confession. This was indeed the desire that is willow. She sang

sometimes cutthroat anxieties over aliens although the Madonnas silly fun, bubbly, however, as the orgy: But then who the hell invented the dead?

without a voice frail, indeed. In a move sure, but soon failed, she filed a foot before the other, dancing soft on the fault lines of his heart. Maybe it was basically only her dressing gown, a blue videographer, open like a convenience store. Her gown, which opened to the spitting image of devout room.

Black and slow: I, in my very feeble, I wanted to marry her frank laugh like that just shook, exceptionally arcane, fatigue love. Mango and drank deep: Yeni Raki's. Since all the smooth day of sauce and sour in its charm. The days went by hills up here in the ninth. It was inevitable that young people get tired.

A cherry mouth, an orange at the hip: she cried empty his vices raw. Before, before, amen, that was all fat, stirs rare. We must be honest. And goal blood to implore: to understand the truth, just pull the strain of the false start.

Now that my heart s'errance geniuses in dramas, I pray, in my bathing cap and without leaving a sigh hot water to my neck, I pray without end, naked and ecstatic, I pray a voice of ether, sliding my ear to the wishes of the silent hours ... tired

"Empress of yesteryear, after Atlas troubles, Mango, Mango in wild plant soul return to me empty it and right! Atonement Atonement mine oh, Mango, in times more strongly widowers! Atonement and save me insane, psychopathic and sickly, and save me the votes in the hollow of my skull, old drain, rancid. Atonement little china, we still write with ink the ocean all the ghosts of our warmer seasons ... Do not die a death more old, so why did you have to die? "

Implex this story is more than imaginable. If one were to consider any beginning it would be this.

On a park bench, lying under a beautiful sun flamenco Mango pardoned sex of coquetry coca coke, grasshopper and hoarse. I knelt down, then Indian, wearing a smile Siena and serene. And I took her hand. Then we violated as lovers who knew too.

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Mango (3)

Zura Arabidze

I draw, it's downright crass, I draw mandalas in the sandbox in the living room. Mandalas! The macabre! It was scaffolded as snakes, Mango and me. In the lounge is like a day off. It beautiful suit. Mandalas, very difficultueux, complex as speech Nazis, I task my Swiss Army knife. I traded in Vada cons poems when I was in second. She got stuffed!

The sky, up there, he is an anarchist. And beef! That cow! The proof for octopus, he spits the bit of fat on all the gallantry smog Freudian not stung to dive ... not poems! This bitch insult to my quarters, it polishes the skull

bitch ... Oh! And they frisked on scrambled eggs ... It was all!

And next morning, was already the whoop.

Mango

- Is there anyone? Persians? Nuns? Person? Is there not some perverse people?

She stopped outright. She was more beautiful words in his own mouth ... And suddenly!

- The bell rings!

- Dry your tears, I bellowed with drool ... Cover your charm! Calm down! Calm down! We'll show him that that sounds, what they do to sassy!

His lips stitched with gold, at the corners of intelligence would throw an image of Greek sculpture: Mango, in all its States, it was Mango in all Sweden, United sweated tears in unison with his heart in a swoon.

It opens wide the front door. It is a ray of light that we crayola crushes the boil: Amen! Amen! It's just almost if not crises fucks language ... The man, who stands straight, a smile folded into two continents suffocating. If this man has a name, it must have several syllables.

- Hey! The two clowns! I need a place to practice my burlesque approach. I give you my card right away to play: I'm reshaping my life in its smallest outline. And I went to my approach. I need space: is it an offer that you will not refuse?

- That we accept some! And all of go! We just needed someone to share household chores. We admit straightforward: this is not our cup of chamomile, it, tasks. You'll have to take care of everything.

Mango talked like a cartoon. It was pretty as a tombstone! I licked her a drooling nicotine entire globe of his body paranoid ... But it was being emptied of blood. Menstruation, it always happens when the bells sex. Unbelievable any jam that comes out of there! After trying to make him the catch! It's inconceivable!

We took off our shoes and socks, Mango, and I abroad. We sat in Algonquin around the tea table, which has flared with a match. Was controlled to avoid fire. We spent the evening shadows to India.

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Interlude peeved throat

William S. Burroughs

Helen ,

The breeze is coming. One evening

windy in the country.

I was to handle the stove, logs per log. On the round, I had a soup base, which cooed, laying in the house of intimate fragrance. You know full well that I have always been fond of the smell. Thus I came to you. As the breeze.

I remember already comfortable when you restored thy skirt vanilla. I sought to place on your thighs with kisses sweet, chilly. Your eyes red from having cried so frightened, even after all this time. Life does thee never made gifts. No error. Life does thee never presents. You spend all your time in the past. So you worry too inventing, memories. The same, of black.

With all that, I could not put me in mind certain coincidences. Was I making an idle tone? Initially, I was much too keen to point out the danger. Not least, I told myself. Your fear every time we stretched, under the sheets, sheets if our cats, I always had the effect of a surprise. Baroque, clownish, any relaxation became illusion: I could not live with you as fragmented by the mysteries that you hid in the depths of your black pupil.

And to be black you were, even more than the sky at the end of October. In those days, our love dovetailed, became difficult. I made you constantly pink. It just did not care if I do not gripe against the wind, you just décoiffer, décoiffer your head if ... What say? This beautiful woman's head, not quite experienced, not old, nor young, but exquisitely beautiful, or something like that, anyway, something like that.

I think that's how I saw you. In my pallor, my life by the light and dark wan, I did that for me you uncap, to make me gush a quiet madness, almost ordinary. I could marry for hours on your skin on my hands of soul, feeling the pain as a specific desire. I only wanted you no harm, but I felt trapped. I saw in you a single delusion. However, it is in your touch I knew something immensely important, cavernous, would soon occur. Therefore, I wanted to protect you.

After all, Helen, fire of my loins, light of my rails, I loved you for loving you I loved you as one loves a delicate music, music that makes us dream, which helps us to sleep when the night is too long. Long nights.

"No Alex ... I assure you any glue for the better ... Do not worry about me ... Poor you! You cease to make bile ... The bad blood is for idiots ... "

And perhaps was I stupid. Because I do not believe you. I had a conviction so bitter, really clear, like what you were going to soon fall into the clutches of a sordid temptation. The situation, though, and soon hopelessly dull, transported me into a trance.

First, your lies. Your past false that thou was creating. Unless and until a beautiful autumn morning sickly, you came, in a dressing gown, opened the chest, so that a glimpse of nipple soft and transparent, you came to tell me trifles, and tales awake.

"Alex ... This can not continue like this! I torment! I get so violent with you ... You know that brother and sister is not tomorrow the day we can go out in broad daylight ... in front of everyone! Can you imagine? What does one say? "

I put your hallucinations on the back of passion ... I could hardly believe that you had started thinking that we were the same blood. At this time exactly as I started to develop my plan: we had to get out of jail, take you elsewhere. I chose the campaign.

I chose to cut yourself with scissors in my madness.

On the round, I have a soup base. Thyme, beef broth and all your skin. I slashed warm this morning, with little dabs of beer caps. Brother! Oh! If you never ever attic my chaste prayers of thy beauty psychopath, I'll see you at least in my soup.

That I prepare on the stove ... Things are heating up and I turn ... I turn around.

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Mango (2)

Tom Waits

Mango! Mango! It was all put in top, curled like a piano ... She played Greek plays cons drunk, she played with her rump with his hand mime ... And what's the point? I knew that squeak. And besides it was always a gamble, his mood ... She started to belling and brave, as Plato would have seen cholera face it: You still have ridges to eat!

- I freelance, I know, I sang, I know! I have the skull By dint ... stiff stuffed!

Should not retract all: Mango, she adores me alive. Mango is not allowed how she stares at me in his desire. They looked like butterflies! It was the little dream! And our taste buds, these are sounds: Mango tastes Mahler. Sure it tastes serious. She drops of depression in the palm of his heart. It fits her and it fits her: it's worse when it's wet. That pink frieze in those days. It shaves close to being the big bomb in the body.

And Mango, she whispers, hush, hush, she broke his heart with children's stories ... I j'horreur that. I think not a dirty word. And that traitor like the devil, those cases. Traitor! Mango is pure. It's pure that girl as if she had dipped her secrets in rum ... I would drink real

saliva of an eye with my grief. But I have a nasty fear of the sonata she will play with his fingers on the morning of his suicide death ... because it is sworn in as the water rose, it will sweep over us ... When

she coos like that, sitting in the process of giving pleasure, I want to take it, her in age, and rock with my willows. But the rain fell on the storm.

j'horreur Because at the end of it, life ... Radiant lurking mockery! We spend all day, basically, to write poems with our nails into the oak furniture is huge ... how original! There are gusts and others throughout the gallantry of furniture ... We came to think that every pore of his skin has own tragedy.

But in the skull, I was fascinated huge task ... I saw myself in it like a hot knife through butter soft ... Even when I was defending the nap ... Always! Daylight, it was of no help. It would take to wipe the semen storms of our sorrows ...

Mango she wears dresses with prints of flowers, very 1980 ... It smokes cigars. We sing poems implexes stone on the couch, running underneath the dresses ... dresses! This is below the table that sets forth the sweetest melodies of the plot! The idiot! Skin! (From Plautus!)

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Mango (1)

Mike Dowson

- Oh! That is the devil!

- slut! You're just a bunch of gossip! I tope not when you play the daughter of Street ... At night! It's dirt! That and everything else! You! Bugger off! You get it not that I need space to build my castle of poems? And you take the whole damn place! Your nets! And your magenta! This and that!

- Oh! Oh! But stop doing your show, man!

- What?

- Schumann! Your Schumann! Schu-mann! Stop doing, your Schumann!

She holds her head, left, right, for it not collapsing. Under pressure. Draft beer. It would be good! His head is pretty sweet as it is: it looks like Aeschylus but with a drop of ... ... a drop of sperm! In the face! The magazines, they, they tell us a lot of nonsense, like this, like this: skin, nothing better than that. I SWEAR. Sperm, so it is written comic, gives the complexion a color Orphic. And we, we, they are believed. Mango and I think they are. Word. Oh, they talk about them other ... We swear. Perjury! Perjury!

Mango and I are, as we say in the other, we're ... alive? violin? How do you say? Violent? Purple? There. That's right: we are is rape.

Mango holds her head with her hair Sevilla, which shines like a thousand cities, turned thumbs on her lips, making a big O with her pink mouth. And she sings octave Ovid serious as empty. That it does: smooth, wrinkle it. We stay inside, within us, and we spend our time to ride. Like crazy! Us!

It's better than everyone else, because we, you know how it works. How it works. We, we are servants. We know what it rhymes function of life. It rhymes with pee, penis and host. It is not the world!

- we play?

Mango, she always wants to play. His trick is not nearly funny thing to get to be serious as possible. Mango loves all the seriousness that person. If you approach us seriously, you're no better than dead! Seriously! No badauderies! I never let you feel Mango. Not a wrinkle! What you dare! Dare! And in less than a Lent, I am sending you waltz, like cream in coffee French! Like anything! As a UFO on the smile of a mad 15 years!

- We play old, old branch old bronchitis? We play?

- What, Mango? You want to play what, again? I leave the guns in the water?

- Go!

- Old British scientists costumes?

- Go!

- Music Circus?

- Right! Go! Go!

And tonight, in September 1 fees as of cirrhosis was valdansé! Two hours of time! When you think about it, it can hardly be two hours of something else. Two hours. But not two hours in diameter. Two hours. But not two hours tiara. We know that time is two hours! Watch them how they are so serious! Them more! With their big words and nonsense! Their great tunes! They are cheesy, like strawberries! Vegetables! They believe themselves perfectly sunny saying two hours. Mango and I nanny, it is not underway, it says: two hours of language.

We kissed for two hours of language.

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Astronaut for Lili ,

The sky's fable who alone s'ombre, it lights, smoke algae, kisses watercolor. These immortal seasons saved by the mouth of suicide ... It flies with wishes of a negative blue to black hemp. Hoping hands and seas, gall, when a rising red ... When ascending to heaven with cyanide ...
To console
sarcophagus, with flowers Coltrane, where lianent veins in ocean villainy; death I married your skin praline UFO. And in the wind drowned burn! And fields children invent mandalas macabre ...

If pale sea in the Channel of your thighs Vasco alphabet a straightjacket for any force, I sowed my pelvis into the den of lions. At midnight breakfast of asthma, a voice response vaudeville, a cemetery full of sorrow organ ...

Nu as a quatrain of insane cares, or Eros fades, I forgot hang me Tango with a rope.

And my shivering in young disasters, nicotine neck, where I am in Egypt every bouquet of melancholy. And and and, orgy m'Irak, inconsolable pianos, when your iris m'anthrax, as a odor when my life away, stammering.

Rescuing weary years, I took the tram to your secret. Digging to look beyond the safe where you hide your time. Beyond the grave falls down I fall in ovation to the dose. But dark! Where hypnosis, I asked where I stick my head clippings with witches scum ...

Separated my name to spell your breasts, to my ears hares turret saliva hoarse, I lose consciousness as investigate the beating of my initials complex. So bitter for ink to break into my blood the wine mornings uninhabitable. I hoped the jellyfish in their underwear. But it was only ice, katana emotional.

Milan and - I would die of apnea in your room back.

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Fawn perfume North

Andy Julia

In the unforgettable, nailed to the rosy hours, my shadow soon
arabesques and riots
the immaculate in your palm and dumb
he was still morning astounding confessions
to drown in a bath of hugs?

In solitude, however, does exhale the happy
goldsmith and a mouth like a lavender lip
subtracted to the hostage because the imaginary design

heareth not the real tables in the bright

here is the story in a strange storm
our futures too short and that
clouds are hanging by a thread battle
are beyond gorgeous and hot in the orchestra
arsonist flesh

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I picked a thrill of your mouth saliva

Marco Barsanti

In the spring of felt, insolence m'encens, I covered your skin from my shadow misleading, my life widow. The laughter fell against the window immaculate. Your lips, sardonic insomnia, enjoyed, enjoyed in rain, bent. On

ocean passions later I was on your breasts to dance a ballet of grammar.

My stomach is starred in empty deserts. Everything was in Athens. Your laughter miracle mirages pale in me apparently committed suicide. I was a joker and broke the wine of our meetings, carrying in my obvious joke secrets. In the refinery of your kidneys, thousand winds mellowed, but I hoped nothing, your breasts vanished ...

After storms m'évidant of our shared universe, I cut out your silhouette with a chisel in my youth.

Thou waltzing with my solitude, discovery, both of us all. I enjoyed the day your ass deceased opium, your flesh so crazy, cathedrals and farewell. Our desires new, more beautiful than black, buried in the gondola of madness, rose up in elegy.

m'affalais And I echo your eyes to the infidels, in other arms than those which ensure you viciously. Valium Wandering heart where I myself, I plunged into darkness at your age now.

I took the opera of our nightmares impossible. By sickly, I t'exquise in smoke - a perennial paint that disguises your Poe.

But come on, dance, trance, rancid vomit in your dreams melancholy! Religiously you kissed me nowhere to orgasm. When the window the day charcoal, was leaking vain, I gave a good chop the alarm castle.

I dipped my fingers in the bohemian your hair, then dying in me the scent immediately. And I am dead to gold sirens. Unforgettable when we are alone, you who like what I do not say, to join the woman in the poison.

I know some lovers who have stuck their hearts with nuclear power plants.