jeff filipski

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fanning the thin lines of plastic webs
fanning the thin lines of plastic webs with the fires of false belief
with the fires of false belief
whipping blue slave with vigor
for complying with motherhoods pitiful plight
fighting cupids arrows
fighting cupids arrows
with a bucket of raw testicles...
springboarding to anonymity
in mock fetal positions
that burning in your lungs that sez cannibis I love you
I was gliding down the avenue on my shiny new glo-coat shield on a day of unusually high gravity. It was pulling a little to the left, but I compensated as the air stunk of gunpowder. People I passed on the streets had these jigsaw puzzled looks on their faces. Sharp wit was a danger. it drew too much attention. intellect was not allowed.
you can hear the bleating out back. Vertigo walked hand in hand with nausea. piles of human hair lay in mounds at the curb. a peachy existence in a world of sullen resolve. life was more redundant than ever because the last harp was never burned. wooden virtue walking stick-like through plastic wheat. legs without feet. quagmire mind sucks oily residue through sieve of swamp underlay. gravel crunch under rubber tires as onslaught proceeds. there is a sale on human heads in the parking lot. they grimace as they dry in the sun. sheep with crucifix in anus in foot race with truth. Truth is there is no truth. That is the truth. we make it up as we go along or we accept.
merciless herd instincts. leather straps through flesh holes.
let the stricturing begin. she begged for human contact as if deprived. a prisoner of herself no doubt. penuriously. political correctness should be shitcanned. let it out.
scratch your rash. ration your smile. smile at me. me so sorry. serenade meat at rapid rate of irrational radiance walk across the river without getting wet. I annoyed my liver this weekend. my parabolic escape from reality. the temperature inside my skull increases. what temp is necessary for combustion. there is a micro society living somewhere nearby. i can hear their screams when the air grows still.
the image worked its way into their cortex. manifesting with tumor-like quality billy let the pool filter hose blow him. again and again. he said it was good. I'll bet you
Allah never did that. never mind that little goat in the meadow. broken morals stumble across busy street. hilarity, as people attempt their feeble mending.
we shall commiserate in the vortex of the mob.

Jeff Filipski

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Jeff Filipski is originally from Buffalo NY
An artist for over twenty yrs
A member of E.B.M.A. Jazz and Poetry Ensemble
His voice appears on "Enjambment"
His laugh appears on Kurt Nimmos "Bongo Moon
some of his visuals have appeared in:
Deluxe Rubber Chicken
Non Compos Mentis Press
Atticus Review
Pure Light
The Hold
Fubbles Press
There are others whose memories are mostly thought manifest several of which are a product of extensive brain damage and/or are simply not memorable enough to mention...
He tours florida with his artwork trying to convince tourists that his wild forms are really fish, indigenous wildlife, very disturbing still lifes and neuro-self-portraiture...

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