Splinter places a darnspotting trimfelt
flinging and tramplining a youngshot.
A sling gone sort of trending.
A heard first more than felt rending.
Then a creepsy pain wave shatter echo.
Angry endings of nerves.
Morse code swear words.
I don't speak the language exactly
but the point does manage to get across clearly enough.

The wildly gesturing phrasebook fumbling of a brain in flame.

burnt up busy with a watch out pissed off
perfect tizzy witched a cost cut kiss cough
flissed a flossrange brined and twitched it truer
a pickled partridge washed and tricksed it brewer.

until you plunk your plinder
until you flash your tinder
until you plank your plunder
until you crack your thunder

and whats a low ride to a street punk
and whats a swerve drive to a tree trunk

your picture perfect just a flinch first
you fixed work ethic for a slim purse
you planned your actions like a no self restraint
you think you fought it but i know that you ain't

brashly brimming at a split seams bust out
protected from the storm, but you left your trust out
and so its swimming, or should i say its flushed out
been lately a slave to form, but now its been crushed out

you picked your prayers to cover genie bases
you sicc'd your swears down on their stupid faces
too strict, your bearings twisting from their races
true tricked you're wearing out of all your places

a blindly upended fruit cart in your movie car chase
one finely rendered true part in your fake tale, ace

was spinning yarns until he accidentally sewed up
just taken aback by the real tailors that showed up
just a little lost track, couple stitches don't hold up
then he disappeared in a pack, of responsible growed ups.

There goes a man with a mechanical horse
a scoundrel through and through
Gonna need hisself a bulletproof vest
and a shot of the witches' brew

There goes a man with a mechanical ox
a bastard through and through
Failed the test like all the rest
floating in the cannibal stew

Nicely, snaxo.

flightness a wingspan tug
from log to low with a flut
flut flutter ing daydream feeder
no straight lines in nature and no perfect circles.
some aim to and some don't
but no thing gets done the same way twice.
only similar.
some familiar relatedness
your cycle with a dent in it
or gravity pulls it egglike.
this town is the theory of repetition.
in actual use
a series of near misses
and near hits.

blaringly sidewinder some plain library cultist tripped
a descent of bookbugs and dust allergies
of binding consumption
pressed black into off-white
a million marks and scars that storytell
a million half-parked cars, a wishing well.
semi-precious items tossed places in overly optimistic hope for exchange
somehow, full precious items are the expectation.
probably, someone did not read the wishing well manual quite all of the way through.
one usually would have to give it something they'd rather keep.

a warship worshiper
a plainclothes panhandler
an undone forager

a worship warshipper
whose slain manhandlers
to run cold porridgers

squeamishly abusive all trailing blood and averted eyes
what accidental violencer
polishing the tools and the excuses.

(All of which, are basically what happens when i sit quietly in the middle of the woods and write things down. Sometimes reading back through my mininotebook is funny. Sometimes just weird.)

Well, that's one way of doing it. Helps if you have woods nearby as they're not very portable.

Actually sitting down and writing out the words is probably the ideal way to do this if you want anything at all clever and/or interesting. Myself, I'm terrible at this- anything I write reads like a research paper. I tend to start with a rhythm and fit words to it as a melody develops (or doesn't) which is less than ideal for wordcleverness, but I suppose it's easier than trying to fudge the notes after the fact.

Singing random nonsense in old-school soul/R'n'B style around the house earlier, I managed to ad lib "he's got a dog named Gilgamesh", which I'm rather proud of.

I keep your cutout words in my dictionary, safe from my rotting eyes
Try to suffice with poor replacements, left limping like a drunk's marionette
Preemptive doubts been pissing in my well again, I can taste it and feel it's grit
Wonder what that bastard's been drinking and where I might find some of it

Bred in blonde and brunette and birthed in jet black, faded now and not coming back
Raised of privilege and wealth, took the tools provided, ground them down and stabbed myself
Longing to smile for you but felt the fear to show, my teeth exploded years ago
Beneath the pressure of vascular pumps that wished to grow
Dismissed kisses blown at blue sky and and pretty girls at bus stops


I am really trying to force words to happen and it's pissing me off

Sometimes I forget the sound of your voice and I'm unsure whether to be thankful or not
And then, then that bell rings again as it always does
Exploding cacophony pushes it's way through the gates of unwanting acceptance
Shears the eardrums and smashes the heart and head

It's a communist plot
Fiendish fluoridation seems that way
disguised in its role preventing tooth decay
Arrived from the other side of the Milky Way
to the Greys, humanity they will betray

some sudden town we pulled at probable
placements and regressions
we parted ways with everyone
and some seas please
we factories, we practically
we fracture these
easily lowered less easily raised
kind of arrogant yes but don't easily accept praise
untrusting or unworthy it's a pessimistic call we make
some see ghosts, while we see fakes.

In ol' bluesman voice:
I got a dog named Gilgamesh

Ronnie James Dio:
He's a mage
He's a mage
He's a mage
He's in the larval stage

Oh, baby baby,
the grisly remains
Oh, baby baby oh yeah

Slipping in and out of consciousness, some bananapeel sort of joke dream.
I'd be sure to get some sleep if the meddling kids would quit their poking.
Only got on half the mummy suit, slip out the false floor when they aren't lo'king.
Off quick to the swerving villain car with the button for the smokescreen.

flailing limbsabout a gentle flimsabout
got a winterfear denting up some farmertan

got it taped up tightly
so it just might hold
(though it's buckled slightly
underneath the load)

bent a temper tantrum
all around the room
blame it on the phantom
of our luck will change soon.

some spinning sounds arounding
now but tell where you were
or was it were you whirring
oh, that's only desperation's stirrings.

wasn't that what they were inferring?

a certain timbre and a long wait
an echo came then quickly turned around
a sudden crashing in a sharp wave
and i know why you worship sound

and so we always play the long sway
and hear our words get turned around
a show of force facing the wrong way
and i know why you ran aground.

words about nothing new nothing new