Scythe Dream – Evan Isoline
March 20, 2020
1.
Neon gills of the mirror, a thin ocean to infect death.
I am the (anti)theater-shaped memory.
I had a torch for a mouth.
As a carnival : death : I let it wander, flow from the
flower-shaped
climax.
Meadow covered by the drip of
a face
A wandering eclipse.
I curtain the ocean to infect dead splashes with
shattered dirt.
A
dripping
rash
of neon-days. Splashed with smoke. Memory is slit
on its side.
I am grazing, stars crash. This bright
sleeping cutter.
Synonymous with “dead meadow of the eye.”
SCYTHE-DREAM.
Inside, I crawl through the dilated gills of the mirror
into the fraud
of
the ocean.
I curtain the abyss. There is a
splash of dead
meadows.
The night sky is eye-catching
and my blue whisper splashes the claustrophobic
trees
in the shape
of a sail. Orgasm’s moon-body of grey cork.
I have to burn a postcard to leave this theater.
I crawl through the diseased screen. I curtain the
head.
I’m in the sky, but the grid was cracked, and
the screen’s pale hand eliminates you…
Sail:
a skull that looks like a sky.
I’m your wet splice. A dead splatter-shaped climax.
Carnage, however, of this unique
change
is a bridge of neon days—
Later on in the knife dream
there is a dread that you encounter
in a skull-shaped mire.
The mirror is the fraud of the sky.
A moon that drips from the sail.
I have to burn a postcard to leave this world.
Memory is grass-stained / a fraud of the
wounded matrix / narcotic lawn
A skull of crowds.
(You in a striking climax).
I crawl through pixels of sky. Make an ocean
Synonymous with “dead grid of mucous
membrane” (theater-shaped)
New flesh. Or, drip of fire.
I’m in the bright dungeons. My mouth is a wet torch.
Charred postcard to leave the blossom of death,
I let it wander, float away from
me into the
television sky.
I curtain the suicide. I crawl through the
world-shaped climax.
Splash of dead sky : a
casual blasphemy.
Scenic self-disagreement. Infected
meadow / grid drool
streaming from my scythe.
The mirror is slit in the
abyss. This splatter / drip
of double death, the
culminated stain of lightning/
shattered dirt.
Scythe to screen—Sky: The chronic logic of the
mirror
to reflect luxuriant / scattered hemoglobin / soluble
by the dead sparks
dripping from orgasm’s sail.
Your symbol of the sky was a drooling grid :
a drug-induced mucosal membrane
(sail-shaped).
This lightning
—stained
metaphor
Has a scythe in its side.
2.
Clicking on the kite icon
To win your wings in the water
In a striking scythedream
I went to Saturn’s TV station to die.
A new one of my choices glows.
Let the flower drip through the death slit of the
telescope
Into your father’s mouth [the bitch of your
point of view].
A phoenix will follow
The bullet through his head, into fulvid skies
Letting the TV die. The sun over the God-bridge into the ocean.
A butterfly wing writhing.
It is memory that has replaced my mouth
A lunar polynomial
mesmerizing my voice.
Fill the grave with wildflowers.
Fuck me now.
Oh Pharaoh, newcomer to death,
Enter the crowd (writhing).
Hurry to the center
Saturnal wheel-chamber of the cocoon (Movie-
God) :
But wrapped in the voracious blue cellophane of
murder.
Blue-chilly sounds of mathematics
Fill the void.
And again I was born
With a mouthful of cockroaches
To illustrate an alternative to the virgin Spring.
The star kissing the freshwater of the abandoned
hole
[the blaspheming code]
One hyper-ectoplasmic sun at a time.
And the sucking-meat brought distortion,
Reducing the nexus to its petal-splattered base.
Fear in harmony with
Blood lawns.
Slim neutron of the empty ocean:
Memory is an
incision of water.
Oh blue eyes, sunflower torn out of the moon
Form me onto the cross (of the internet cube).
Eye-catching, scenic as a wounded moon-body
Drooling sparks across the carnage
Dungeons of the television world.
This is my first young glory. Sucking a kite.
You can hear a substitute for meat
the moist-pink intention is floating
Closer to the edge of the mirror, leaking
paraphernalia.
I vividly inhaled the mucosal death of my cliff, the
abacus of
A deformed sea-haze.
The body is a spiral of blood and wet revelry
[pink bacterial thrush]
Protesting the dictatorship of the sun.
I promote the luminous maggot. When a kite
bifurcates the tongue
It diminishes the ape. Fuck me now—to the
internal organs.
Narcotic, splatter-shaped, grass-stained
And Death, a cutter
With its own grey cork hands.
The [worldview] [of your body similar to] [(kite-
shape)]
The waves burn. Movie-God wins his death.