A grove of tailless arms and legs

By / Mohsen Elbelasy / EGYPT

The scene : 

The eye spews disheveled smoke

Salted mouths migrate to a red desert

We are sleeping in the saliva of a salacious hyena. 

The picture is studded with matches 

Leaning on a crutch, 

 carrying a torn bag

Thennnnnn…….. 

The burnt elephant is lying down and there is a nail between his eyebrows……. 

The hunter swallows the  columns of ivory and smiles….. 

My wooden face splits into bodies without holes 

I return to the alley of creeping owls 

like a stone without a hand 

To raise the signs of gelatinous rejection

I evoke all the depths of the  dry prophecies

Like swimming in a pool of lard

Many soldiers shouted like cocks over my eyelids

And the babbles become swarms of locusts 

flocking to my ears….. 

I lick the houses covered with the Skins of the butterflies of  brothels….. 

I drink tar to shine the crystal between my thighs!….

I sleep in the dens of laziness to fuck  a whole army of phosphoric algae that smoke cannabis and let out black smoke from its bright ass.

*******

the sound is  :

Burnt green

I kept all the music of the charred jungles on my tongue….. 

And I stole all the bubbles of shades and shot them into the pierced valleys of my pockets.

And after certainty that the ceiling is a dictator,with 

the Shackles of  lepers and never heal…… 

And the struggle of wishes fraying like a cat falling from the sky.

After I made sure of all that,

 I pierced my neck,

and cascades of fatal daggers  come out from it to kill my memory…… 

the shape is :

Zigzag matrix of Lust and blood spots.

Snow is redder than the vagina of hate, and veins of indifference round the neck of scarlet color,

The color of horror of dying children.

The Hunger is :

A flayed mouse plays billiards with his amputated head!

The charcoal is dyed yellow. 

**

the blood  is :

Waves on  a golden shores

The Scene again:

The coral reef swallowing each other

The picture is a doll

Smoke is a doll

Laziness  is a scarecrow Pulsating with pent-up napalm. 

The doll is just empty black air 

The memory doesn’t eat the burning flags

We are without ears to eat through it 

Inside the no ear, no other ear, no ear here, no, no 

But in my forehead there is  an eye hung

And 

Inside this eye is another eye, 

In the city  of need, 

all the rivers  are running towards the holes of your asses. 

Toward the shame of truth and the prohibition of breathing. 

Toward me. 

I am not here 

______________________________