Oprah Dubstep
Djello
in playmobiles
redyellow sky
whiteblack sky.
Purplebumps,
gooseprickle green bogerknight.
Chasmic child and
heir to the Shadow.
Meanwhile [in the redyellow world above],
Dubstep Oprah scours Tigerwood,
ever-scrutinous. In her scrut she loses her cups,
inducing a spree whereby
horrowshows are had by all.
Meanwhile [in the whiteblack night],
Pössen, germaine, stacks her cups,
muttering stutterbreaths
of Hilde, apostates,
and Death!
…
…
…
Hypercontext exhausts:
metaprison is a tetragrammaton,
a gnat at the teste, a wolf at the door,
pteradon soup in playmobile’s troupe.
Gibber’s decline, spider’s scint:
semen somen soma soap
in the redyellow world above
…
Scintos,
a salamander prize,
a topical cream applied.
Gibber’s city of God, a horrible wroc.
Then I visited Oceanside to see my betrothed.
She wore lilacs,
but all I could see was the Tempest.
Realized she was whiteblack
and I, redyellow:
To be Scintos! To scry!
Gibber is a friend now,
I visit him in Pössen.
…
…
Time-trial hypos for pachyderm skulliors at the Colloseo.
Everything is a
dinosaur video-game
under a
redyellow sky.
One skullior crawls,
his legs harpoon’d,
he cries:
VIOLENCE! AT COACHELLA!
Dubstep Oprah is not amused.
Neither is Memzord,
artifically flavored teloscae.
And yet he only costs seven mana, he only costs 50 rupees
…
…
…
…
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…
In the Morn, my bones are weak.
Absalom sleeps heavy and
absurdis shrinks from
the palecool whitelight.
I forget yesterday’s marches,
nightmares are the fog in between.
The palecool is a tone, you see.
In spite of mysterizing
he takes wing honestly,
to dispel redyellow,
and proclaim blackwhite.
Pantagruel can no longer omit this from his travelogue,
the sin of Yourn is too blatant,
too goose-prickle green to ignore.
His sheep shorns provide warmth
for my fingers, whose digital evil
scrive this world like
cephalopod neuromancers,
soliloquizing and
eating brains.
To think of it is to know terror!
This is how Malak came into his citadel,
this is how Rastlin got his cough.
…
…
Return to Memzord, artificial teloscae, in his Orrery tower.
His nebulae culling song, wailing melancholic resonates
through the nexes.
It sings in the heart of every misanthrope, every mind flayer.
spindlous cull…
a muster.
…
…Meanwhile on whiteyellow day
My hands are cold in Pössen,
stiffening the scrive by aching the marrow.
Gibber says I will not finish, at this rate.
Doubt begins to fester
Scraggle parade the streets,
the bread-carts are cold-hearted,
ghostly knights enforce the chill,
all of Pössen is divided.
Some yearn for the day of Purplebumps,
jolly, mayoral, and plump. The others call for
skulliors, Collosia, and Red War.
I, me?
My hands are very cold.
Yesterly,
Bayner implores the council,
(on which Oprah, dubstep cuntle,
and Memzord, artificial teloscae, once
sat together).
He says there will be rift, Djello!
He calls for Kordonium.
Bruce Bayner is condemned for heresy, and
the Concordat of Vyrm concludes.
…
…
…
…
…
…
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…
…
…
…
Then,
redyellowblackwhite!
RANDOMDJELLO KRONOSHATT
[Memzord is Memnarch]
exix lupe fiaxitude exix librae
lubrican’t tell time nemore
slobberslorb
djellen d’loven
throubespair nexix cloudcity exix librae
frondu nes’pterasnatch
ghostcity: Pössen! Pösssssssssen!
redcuntle blackert schmeagor
verigotergot? Ninimexix dubstep exix librae
mornbreakin playmobiel…Mobien?
I am wirty wirt wortwurst
am I Roabt?
Betroan! my failed stew.
Lil’ exidubexis librae
exidubst operein
operadust feltsun
exide dubstep
…
OPERH OPERHA OPERHAHAHA
oprahdubstep
…
(2012)
