Spectrum Night; …?

Spectrum Night; …?



Purple mechatronic waves pulse the bmp frequency’s inducing e sharp, pure tone, rhyme schemes into jangled eyes watering under the down-force of hertz pressure clouds; keeping myself right to do wrong….Now…! Anything could be achieved: rape drugs shaped in all the fruity condom rainbows; lifting their hands in the air, carelessly, and drink, drink, and dance to the Nordic soul of Carling test tube babies that flatter to be fucked; sweating a sweet stench of last night’s free for a favour kebab. My question time, tonight, gave the same grey answer: How to pass the tart to get the dough? After-all the hundred pee, tan, teeth and nails had to come at a price of some irrelevant orgasmic whimpers wanting, needling, praying, that someone will, not love, but abuse in police shouts of, ‘we can see you!’ The reply’s paint the air, bluish, but warrant no entry into earlier warning maternity shelters, counselling a life of Lambrinni , ligatures; hiding in old shed scars. To now hand a predicament to the plink, fizz, are are yes, of diazepam  mixing a fix of sideways straight head nonsense, and pay to sleep in taxi’s course screeching she’ll be safe in houses, stop…! ‘I want chips first!’ Gulping breeds of potatoes and hair fat she kept talking: ‘I’ll let you hit me if you stay.’ Arcing headlights faced a dead end close. I move out, then cringe to turn: A droll of masked cellulite falling flat on the wet gravel; dog shit fingers rose to face the sight that I saw. Down again, and up and roll and in and out and in more shit legs and dressed to affect my earlier predicament. She laughed and lost as I had caressed that fake Gucci lying open to the remnants of last week’s child benefit and the suckling mother’s breath would reek of further falling when the wee one cries ‘Why haven’t I got a dad this week?’ Back in the bosom I realised I could have been a dada, but no…and for what…: A tinge of, colourful, disgust!