There is a big pile

There is a big pile of blood on the floor
An angel's sac of food for
Punish worm
Untie the lie
The lidded spawn
Put to the eye
And who knows
Worn with clotted creepers
To the dis co

The disco dump
The disco darts
Wear your wings
The wolf goes bang
The eyes go green
I haven't got
A snotted rag
For laughter
You will weep
Like ill guru
And the bump bump bump
Look

Your hands bleed
I have a swim
The snail is safe
I lost my face
I came believing
Cotton clips
On rugged shoes
The foot as such
Is but a slave
To showtime

Where are your histories grazing
They won't rest or lie
Like the lost touch of antlers
On cheeks washed away
From the surface you run
For the very first mile
And don't mind
When light turns
From open wound masks
Drowning last
To the wait and the
Disturb

[Your fire as coveted lord
Tricks all lambs blessed with soft pointed toes
Turns the rocks under maps made of waste ground
And washes your only son
Bristled with captions to spin days from bile
Oh my son
Look at your knees
Stand up straight
Now bend
Like a candle left in the sun
And recant
With your arse wrapped in clingfilm
The whole truth
Black as the risen
Raceme of a silicon mage
On the road to relate
Oh that son of mine

Super spider eloped with surprise/a bride
A bacteria]

Your fire covets lost words
Crossed in circles
You have hidden in the
Lie between the stone wake
And dreams that you have
Shaken from a sheet of black and
White scrawls

Super spider elopes with surprise
Bacteria suffers with wilted
Wives
Honour comes in packs of five
A whooping

Drive your masters down the
Aisle
Split their gizzards
Spit their eyes
Into the forward planning
Marshes

Too cool for sin
Shut up relate
Until you feel
You cannot claim
The right to fold
Your instant limbs
Around the waist
Of reckless pains
And draw their hips
To your malignant
Postures

People float from point to point
Without your moral compass
And even as their mouths are
Shaped around
Electrocution pos/neg ground
A left right central twister
Waits in sand for songs to
Lift the formless clam that will
Unearth a star

Up here
Sunshine smells like laundered
Toast
Up here
Devils scrub their arse cheeks
With the polished tantrums
Of primordial clowns
And minister clouts
With hands they have
Found in the rule book
Of rupture

Get back to your foolproof breeding programs and teach your sanctioned mores to rhyme with life

Thank you for monsters
Thank you for bulldogs
Thank you for strainers of tea

Sitting out the light will be silence you've fostered from pits in a mannered rust pound

Wipe out the sum and the debt of hollow will as you are taken over

Give me SOUND