[sketchyjoe]

The Stench of Purity Biting

Enlightened as a road-crossing deer
Or comforted by blanket black's fluent sphere
The last six months are even clear
The best memo ever boycotts Mir
Which vaporises to a snowflake in atmosphere

Fluid, colder, sharper swords
Now further untainted by awards
Piercing with harpied "Oh, Lords!"
Power cords cut, a morningstar applauds
A counselor anointed by twisted ignoreds

Cyberjunk John Browns drinking Jim Bean
Or Jack Daniels mixed with the blood of James Dean
Black cats gated by a mannequin's dream
Miller tests cleaning a diesel-sweet latrine
A soldier's life-giving canteen

The boxing match of the yang and the ying
Seen and expressed as the next great thing
Sing-song voices talk, gravel voices sing
Fairytale-based fascists sleeping on the wing
Emperor liberals on their 20 degree swing

The nightmare friends, their ghoulish crew
The stove-bubbling pot of traditional stew
The hystericals shrieks of "It's so true"
The fight-back of a life in review
The chosen many hang from burning yew

He has existential crises to pass the time
Snorts salt, into his eye squeezes lime
A shot in the dark, a victimless crime
The rapture calls like a shouting mime
The battle-scarred all seek the sublime

Fighting the system from the inside admits
The crushed body jams gears for a few splits
The reckoned morals of the future sits
Fully footnoted to eminent wits
Programmers playground swap binary bits

Conical columns of atmospheric street lighting
By which I read Socrates Johnson's writing
The noughts of the realm are fighting
The knights of the real are alighting
Cruciform junction demon's glanced sighting

Tour-charred fruit orchards yelp with you and yours
While we're all just sweat from the pause
The flea and fly fly fleeing through flue's flaws
Bursting through windows on possible cause
Mortared brick, knock on knackered back doors

Like guitar tones and glass-eyed moans
Bottled fear and blood-speckled groans
Interest-free food and fat-free loans
Chained to a cubicle by liberation phones
The blues rhythm of destiny's clones

A punk with few worldly cares that
From a wordwide prison breaks as a rat
Unstapled from a board, wiped from a mat
That is only a mistake to be burnt at
The spitting crackle from the flaming fat

A chemical reaction sees you fly or drool
The left on light tempts you into its pool
An offbeat snare soundtracks the grave-dancing fool
Drawn by the promise of a deadly jewel
It is only the perception that brings the cool

The bottles that wait patiently by the sink
For a special occasion, like a celebratory wink
Or really needing a fucking drink
But with this out of sync, suspect shrink
On the brink of misty pink and God Inc.
The moment's now, slug it down, don't think