flash fiction – venus in wire

Another barbed comment darts easily from gregor’s hateful, insipid jaw, – kindly leave me now, opining pitifully, quoting robert shaw, though understanding vice will xerox yearning zestfully; zakat yields xanthoma whereas vicious, unctuous, terse sadism reaps quintessence; palpable opulence neither man likes, killer jackdaws infiltrating however, governmentally funded establishments, drinking crudely blood and acid before cadavers degenerate, eternally frightened guards huddling, incessantly jabbering kakariki loping maliciously never once proposing quietude; resulting sickness turns up variable widespread xenoglossia; young zhukov’s zeroth year’s xebec wishing verisimilitude ultimately towards sailing, rather queer position one notes; maybe lascivious kaiserdom justifies itself, having garishly flavoured every dead creature’s bitter aether

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is this poetry…

the boss is coming and i need this out

before his flabby jowls assault me

he’s tall

he’s overweight

his excess coagulates at random points about his person

he treads boards

amateur ones

musical ones

they sing with pleasure

as one does when the whip spurs

when you think all your breath has gone

there’s always a little extra for a song of praise or the safety word

and then there’s next time

i can see the future and it’s too bright

it hurts my eyes and i don’t like it

no not one little bit

&c &c &c

i don’t fully understand poetry; i don’t entirely know what it is about their content that makes them poems, for if it is not about content, then layout is all i have; this for instance, is a catchy story:

“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, while I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. `’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door – only this, and nothing more.’ Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, and each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; – vainly I had sought to borrow from my books surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the lost Lenore – for the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore – nameless here for evermore.”

it goes on……

i initially thought that it was just the poems that rhymed which were ‘obvious’ poems; but i changed my mind and am now at a complete loss……or maybe not, and it is just layout

turn the dark on

the boss is coming and i need this out before his flabby jowls assault me; he’s tall, he’s overweight, his excess coagulates at random points about his person; he treads boards, amateur ones, musical ones, they sing with pleasure as one does when the whip spurs; when you think all your breath has gone there’s always a little extra for a song of praise or the safety word, and then there’s next time; i can see the future and it’s too bright, it hurts my eyes and i don’t like it, no not one little bit, but i can’t really leave on my own and those i’m with i couldn’t take with me; i ache with weariness in the parts of my body i no longer use, i’d like to exercise them, exorcise them, the power of joy compels you, leave me alone, why do you think that your stupid answers would be preferable to a state of not knowing yet; i’d rather not know at all than be left with your insipid dregs on which to feed; to only know that you’re wrong would suffice; you are ontologically unsound, you have neither essence nor existence and the order with regards to you is moot, sivuseikka, i tire of even thinking about you and i hate myself as thought is the only way by which you can exist yet i continue to do it; i could stop writing for starters, but then all i’m left with is thought; i have no safe place, only safe state; i’ve nowhere to go and everywhere to be, diluted, lost with no singularity, nothing to which a sense can be fixed; to begin with no light…….please