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The document is a poetic exploration of desire, identity, and the interplay between life and death. It conveys a yearning for connection and the complexities of existence through vivid imagery and fragmented language. Themes of resurrection, perception, and the struggle for acceptance are prominent throughout the text.

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40 views37 pages

+82 K-Pop Star Document

The document is a poetic exploration of desire, identity, and the interplay between life and death. It conveys a yearning for connection and the complexities of existence through vivid imagery and fragmented language. Themes of resurrection, perception, and the struggle for acceptance are prominent throughout the text.

Uploaded by

fpwbifyk0
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
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I want to be—a[mass]ed Held by drooling edges of bulging globes—

slaughtered And resurrected by The SQUIR(R)Eling retina


A luminous grave couched In the firmament’s bellow. Keep
me. KEEp me. KeeP mE. KeEpMe (I) can c[a/u]rve [me] just right for you/this Keep
me alive long enough. Keep me. In these folds of wanton [E]an[N]unciation Sex
incarnate smeared a/cross a trans(LU)cent sky. Ur GetTy Image for ever to keep me.
W[A]ter Marked for your purposes only—have mercy on? Liminal; Labial;
Label Screech Artillery; Back; Barracks. In[STRU]mental—I
can do it all. Shoot here, point it Pointed [t]here, linear scratch from the Chimera;
Record; Camera. I can Frighten and Freak; Use commands
Littered on the front of the glass.
You should want to keeeeep me facing This way and that—you understand? Circle
of light here now here now there Won’t you taste my most
vulgar pleasantries —cannot hide (y)our diseased hunger—bloodied Intuition—
sparkling wantonness; Both abandon and me: sexy twins,
battling to see who can burn first. Please; Praise, praise this sound,
pro/nunciation, skin and sickle, say you’re Proud. Or that you’ve at least found
a girth. Untruth: And that I
can be loved deeply by the plumbed world, the ice-shift going from soil
b2b sky. We could make a killing here, if you could love me long
enough to fix the eyes on the cenotaph. This phylogenetic branch of touching
and touching. Of feel and feign. Of touch and digit. I can
perform a year(n) cycle, a daze of rock and puncture. Temper without
storm. With no needle and a leash. With no feet and a gallow. With
no gun— I’ll furnish this plank-body, with the perfect shot.

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