Thursday, January 1, 2009

Something from Bob Brueckl..


Noitial robots in girdles drool over barnacled trolls (light-headed, brass, de rigueur), refracting unlit pyres of crass heirlooms crumbling into pink pools of thick vomit.

Noitial scrotums in scrubbies slick-down the synobite stingrays in the jellies of my cochlea.

Noitial puffers hound the coffee-colored ovum in the crooked drainage of the astroturf.

Noitial deflections near the hosehead cut-off the photon-thong propulsions of the inflatable bulldozer's ass-furred emissions.

The boon blushed flecked, the hushed boon, a trillion meat-lights festering in the stalwart postures of the foaming womb.

After the creation of angels, noise is in a trance at the entrance to the mouth-organs of all gargoyles.

The niceties of the woof-seedlings still the booty in the maw's tangent, but warily the jutting fur is kinetic.

Ogreous striatamyria warts eye the sacred chela pods where eyrie ire fluffs off the somnolent rays of chelipeds.

--Bob BrueckL

(all words from recent Lanny Quarles' poems)

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