Chris Moran 日 12/07/2019 · admin No comments



there’s a computer chip in my dog’s basketball
documenting the motion of oxygen
in a bathtub filled with oatmeal

it’s like feeding a cemetery to the radio

the perpendicular prisms of ignominy
and the brainbombed loser psyches of the herd
replicate the cybernetic agreement
between two winged statues

I held a bonfire inside a watermelon
on the night I drained the ashes from this continent’s hooves

hey, I never skateboarded into raw hamburger meat
but I did drink Drano out of an ice cream scooper
it made as much sense as a horse’s head
bouncing up and down on a trampoline



I drove a rollercoaster into a switchblade
and crowded a hologram with danger

it gravitates like snake oil
adding gravestones to that false reality

the syndrome of the age
pseudo-realities in a slow suicide

the current rage
suicided by ideas
to reach that *higher plane*
where the body gets left behind

and base nature has the market value
of a nigredo cephalopod

anomalous humanoids and oversized skeletons
megastructures on the moon
blurred out by the truth ministers
through futurity’s throne

in the invisible dream city
teeming with unseen life

a blank canvas awakened
cubed helical phosphorous
and the history of aspirin, as told in
cubic centimenters on my gangstalked phone



putting an airplane in a grain of rice
through the slow sleep of violence
dredging up euphoria
from every cannibalistic pose

from every cannibal corpse
monsters rule the black mire
the haze of granite
that speaks through dreams
that speaks through coral migration and the imperial corona

a galaxy of phantoms swings through
the synthesized vocal tendril of metallic eagles

the egg of the age crystalized through refined stoma

and matrix flower
the cranial capacity of a sea dragon
speared an organ through fleshy ventricles
the dethroned scepter of radiology

so I became a labyrinth
and fragmented that berserker consciousness

haunted the psyche like a tomb
to impose a menacing order

spears of flame ravage the chronosphere

it was a dream that sustained the vision
a hurricane corroded by vacuums of sound
wholly deficient in the art of time

feeding the ancients
with blood

and calcium flowers

synthesized in a dream

I came into being via hypnosis
chasing the chimera in my brain

savored through
the blood of my ancestors
and the hollow tinge of the herd

my fugitive science
(and what makes it eternal)

a new policy of tolerance
levitating in the iron cube
a dead astronaut

and the veneration of ashes
poured mercury
on the suffocating, malignant

brainbombed psyches



I am the crown prince of oblivion
sparkling with bloodwaves and low tone cellular geometry
out of the mental ferris wheel
like a ribcage thrown into a football field

like a volcano sprouting vacant atmospheres
the chronology of Western philosophy
folded into holographic origami

forged with dragon’s blood
and moon beam echo geometry

let’s throw civilization in the basement
and start a new scheme
a new rice pudding recipe for the secret handshake club

a triangle retched my volume
(there is a slight jingo to all this)

I want to go snorkeling with a cheeseburger
peeling oranges on a ferris wheel
with a frozen aquarium
playing laser tag with a sasquatch
(there is too much yabba dabba in my hoof)

as masters of the infinitesimal calculus,
god, the devil and Andre the Giant
expand to illusory whirlwind
where Himalayan rock salt
is the cadaver I bleed into

they made coffee with Drano
and puked over the bloodwaves of a thousand dead dogs

they microchipped a hemisphere
and opened their bladders onto hydrangeas––
incorporating a plague into my gymnastics routine

to reverse this cosmic spell
a comatose state is what I crave

Chris Moran is the author of GHOSTLORD (Solar Luxuriance). He lives in Lakewood, OH, where he records ambient electronic music under the name Boring Dream.