body without organ texts

body without organ texts

Ha! there was a body without organ texts. And they were sitting on the
fence, facing the recto verso version of their self. What slave of self
was it they fourfaced in the varied corner of their structured
simultaneous self-hood. What blood was it poured down them?
Sifting through the city market of his dead body piece (god
scattered rafter scaffolds all about), the left handed god awakened
The right handed sheep death at last. Some nominative noun passed
on finally. And the anglo-saxon language of sleep awoked near the end of
bridges and other torments. A peronsalized self dread walked away from,
near the infinite Knight of armour and infinite delectation and
repetition. O Angels! O Savoir!
What peel of lip
O lover of my mouth
You who are San Francisco a whole city character allegory
A figure-image name Nietzsche Daugher and Milton agains the
Zarathustra wind and thunder of prolegemonon
rolling word of tinder and sex pull in arrondissment street
through quarter and avenue of every funeral and Pere Lachaise
O stinger of the chill spine
malevont as night's deepest witch
As sex and dead desire the buddhist money on my back.
Dead philosopher of the sage West run back east to hear the curtain
call of saviour and rest.

Now breath and die O anagram
Breath and reposed in the arms of the nymph
travelling the link of street and desire
O Anagram of nymph and play
against any desire

any word