Work is boring today. You can only know so much about Softimage and all things 3D.
This is meaningless verbal flow. It happens when I manage to get some Neal, speed chess, and
modest mouse all in the same room for a weird ass mental party. I don’t think I like writing poems. Hmm.
Verbal constro-detection-shock perfections.
Twice with swords
Metaversed on the
wireframe render
I came down on your slack, violently logical head.
All a glow in the material downfall
we caressed like blind hit men in the war room of
some long ago sunken battleship.
I am seventeen historic battles, all rolled
into the flesh of space
between my thumb and chain-wrist
knuckle guards.
Pyro maniac Jeet
Kun
Do.
Strange tactic to kneel and throw
all your weight
at a centerline
too fast and wickedly
in the trance
of one mind
one action
one single upward slash.
Millimeter Radar
And girlfriends still in
high school if they went to
schoolbutstayedhometohacktherules
And poon large, overbearing ice cream trucks.
Neuro-linguistic
Hyper
Modern
chess postures.
I flow like soft coil electric
soap.
Thrown onto the deck of a gymnasium
with painted squares.
white and Black.
64 in all.
Battle stems
with pawns on end
of fanciful flank
blindside
Till death or hell
nuclear sprinting-to-our-doom kamikaze
Checkmates.
Speed slashes
on five minute
death matches
Where I pretend that this isn’t Neal’s brilliance.
But rather the things I see between
old cursing men
Arguing over back rank force mates
And
endgame virtua crashes.