Pulp Phantastique your body is "They are abstractions, they are not real." parallel symmetry tufts of hair thrown loosely over camisole drawn tight i call this spontaneous inspiration on black the artist's stray marking artist unknown the hands spread in mid motion incanting this magic spell enchanting the viewer to an image alive yet detached floating in space as the caterpillar crawls so you will grow with 1000 arms you run from me 1000 times a night oh you doe eyed and fantastic slip away your firstclass tickets slip away your engagements for gala affairs slip away from the strain and the high heels slip away completely slip away from your female body the female body as institution with definite boundaries and expectations the female body as philosophic abstraction categorized and inserted into old musty book the female body as psychedelic drug tossed around without regard in all night euphoria party i praise the thigh that carries your body to me i praise the thigh that is carried i praise the high that is you and the for got ton and the for given and the yet to come and your body is your body is and psychedelic institutions and your body is praise of parties and philosophic euphoria your body is a boundary slipping away completely slipping slipping slipping away completely your body is your body is symmetry hair spontaneous art black unknown motion detached an endless space a space to live a space to die your body is your body is a thigh is neverendingby the mad pulper
with unknown variable stripped and distorted you fall into concentric ovals of red and heat invisible, luminescent waves circle your naked body of eyes lips fingers and hips undulating in a soft geometry molded like a ripe fruit ready to burst and offer its pulp delicate eyes of innue waxen lips expanding volatile fingers statuesque rough sketched hips of harvest green and plentiful such a succulent structure yet painfully incomplete flying through wakefulness forgetful where secrets dwell the moment is forestalled for eternity angel's wings burn off when too close to the sun the shadow becomes playground for night's progress water is blissful torture to a scale of rising flame inside you the deepest blue of a mirror you dream satiated with a longing for a response beyond reflection an equation with unknown variable the pale unmoving the dust of decades diminishes the rosy detail the time of your life slipping your gold rush wrinkles into a purple hue the lines become tales unfit remembering the reflection withholds with the unspeakable knowledge held in a fleeting glance a time to chance a daring body disrobes its history stands bare to the future dives into the pink a center holding two extremes
the decline of the girl this is the myth that i proclaim deciphered from the flood of my befuddlement this is the history of a single thought the song of a lost moment the celebration of an infinite space the reign of pain and torment that i have weathered silently in this land of paradise this is the face that i have molded eyes i have blinded tongue that i have cut ears i have sheared lips that have not kissed this is the history of my decline from royalty my lament of the gutter exiled from your embrace your face there is an astrology to my moods a physics to my wandering a chemistry to my thoughts that overcomes the history of the body there is machinery in her words and swords that break the surface of her still waters and men who read her like a gospel and pirates who steal of her treasures and lose them in the drunken seas she moves in thermodynamics wiring running over lips software encoded on the palms of her hands her gifts are snakes spreading poison and cure her allure is a beacon to your shipwreck