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Connor Webber

of

Lurgan, Northern Ireland, UK

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Ginger Snaps

by

Connor Webber

Oh steely lark, hark, I repent,
Thou of burning bush lament,
Of asshole, seven shades of plum,
Mahogany and rosehip beacon.

Strive in poison, for mule and stem,
In hack, and cool shade of Bethlehem,
Strive yet in aching light of men,
For nimble arpeggio passion?

Oh pain of pride, and blood of beast,
That wept in muscle fury heat,
That echoes silk, and leaves me beat,
For cherished cunt most true.


Full Human Cost

by

Connor Webber

this is the age of the sickle and the grapefruit,
the inbred heart,
spikey knees, jagged eyes, needles and pins, needles and pins,
sweep me off my feet

sticatto, sticatto, smear and empathy,
fragrant skulls blooming on deaf ears,
i am munitions,
i am downtrodden,
i am the child of biggot,
i am trogladite of valhalla,
upkeep and immunity,
fragrant and lacking

sandalwood
Marzipan and cigarettes
touch paper, and cut,
Cunt above the rest,
Resting for sleep,
Wrestling for time,
Sobbing a paupers grave into the firmament,

I miss beauties skin,
They miss limbs,
In and out the dusty bluebells,
Round and round the pretty panzer,
They sleep in the shade of eye,
I nap in the shade of sleep,
Haunted by grooms,
Haunted by dentist and kinsmen
lusting for starched cattle in burning emrald


Tommies Career

by

Connor Webber

the big kahuna,
he weilds,
shotgun apathy,
year after year
breath with bite,
scent with grind,
bitterness and indifferance,

he plods to the beat of,
ten thousand wretched sea shanties,
unshaken by years

eyes staring from cave and crevace,
cave and crevace like toil,
fleet street, she will burn his soles on her ashen carpet,
rise up and ruffle his mane,
and shuffle her feet in nervous lightning rooms,
she will offer him
indian shoes and high cholestoral

Tiger Blossom Sunburst

by

Connor Webber

In the Tiger Blossom sunburst you began onto me hallucinations of tobacco stain,
On high, dusting inky black with fiery passion fruit sherbets, joyously proclaiming your own psychedellia,
Vivid lucidity waltzing with the golly gosh neon templates,
Quivering in brightest oranges and cheap tequila dawning of eras erased,
Seeping livid fluorescent wrath amidst the waves of faux despair, distain, and a poor mans epiphany

The blinding patchwork terracotta, beaming from open bud popping of the maternal humidity of lazy days wasted,
The roar of the thick treacle darkness,
Leaves me euphoric and craving tacky Mexican diners of this world, calling to me through Nevada and tropical Arabia,
In the Tiger Blossom sunburst,
Where I found my vitality


Widdow, Widdow

by

Connor Webber

Whisper to me with Ellen Jamesian kinship,
Without this cosmic swirling doubt.
You have your volcanic gender driven opiate, brandishing cutlasses and snifters of crystal methodology,
Did I question my own sexuality whenever you gazed at me, broody with providence, form and the most diluted condition imaginable?
_Its difficult
You are reducing this sexy seascape beyond the sound of jagged ringing eyes,
Perhaps you are bowing,
Perhaps you are smoldering for the elusive shut eye clickety-clicking of the Kodak whores,
Perhaps you have already began this troubled forgery of bronzed ions and disassembling of messianic well wishers,
It’s just a flying visit,
_I am floating again


Hush Lady Scarlet

by

Connor Webber

Hush Lady Scarlet,
Rest your head,
There’s awe on the fire,
And smoke in your eyes,

Hush Lady Scarlet,
My ego alight,
There’s stillness to burn,
And drowning ahead,

Hush Lady Scarlet,
My skin stains your pearls,
There is spite in your glass,
And holes in my sheets,

Hush Lady Scarlet,
There’s a tear in the skys


Hunter

by

Connor Webber

Hunter, who pounces on flesh,
Hunter, who's sexy midnight eyes smoulder,
amidst robust carcas stench.
Hunter, who i am not,
yet passions pound so proudly,
ploclaimed by meaty fleshen slap,

Up! Greymatter Swine!
who writhes and wretches,
and is lost from without;
Flaying in the same filth that pronounced our fathers as 'men',
large men,
large brilliant men with heaving crotches,
and hands that crush souls like an 'honest days work'
..ego's that begin.
this filth, that beckons to obnoxious vinegar flannel,
outstretched,
by sagging wing of a battered matennity.
Wearing at the corners, of this young mans mouth

Iccarus (aka. Iccarus Plastique)

by

Connor Webber

As humble as egos,
..That rise like empires,
and muscle through the subway crowds.
These nylon icons!, our rehashed heroes,
who proclaim their noble truths aloud.
..that rattle chains from knoll and window,
as they bare their bloodied souls to 'yan',
who scratch at floorboards,
and gnaw at ankles,
and scorch their wings upon the sun

Humid Greyscale

by

Connor Webber

Twenties futurama in thick, uneasy moonbeat throb,
Muscle breath suppressed in bleakest mercury half life,
Under the weight of torso thrust

Primal lust for masturbatory ache and heave,
"Me and my shadow" dry humping in the graveyards,
Dreaming of anal chivalry,
Unwritten mantra of the cosmos

Luncheon with granddad,
Under tree,
Overhead static of killer bee,
White noise and gin.

Who knew he had genitals?