Saturday, June 17, 2017

Younisos, Carnal Experimental Poetry

Flesh is silence, image by Younisos 

Cut-up on deep throat in the sky

cut !
cut it up
silent cum
sidereal throat
cerulean blowjobs
bits of howling melon
viscera on the horizon
wild murderous sausages
cruel schizophrenic rump steak
blind giant bone fucking the moon

Sharp jissom

My own corpse is the path, translucent pattern of the bold paranoiac egg. Licking it 
brings the absolute filth to any abstract steak.

Gutted nymphs crossing the street under the bright ax of aesthetics.
— Mister Giant Steak slaughters Vaïna in the sunshine.

mobs of condoms…  beaded panic


Huge butchery deployed on sixty six bald continents.  Millions and millions of bodies, 
bled, flayed, boned... — Fresh pearly bones, super bony dildos, entirely organic dildos...

Bonesodomise yourself. That’s the path.

Mad oranges

six furious lemons
cervicals crushing the algorithm

sweet guts sleeping in pyretic clouds
humming black mud's smile  — greedy pig
my ode to killing  joy

in quasars
unplugging your gleet circuits
smashed ego
creamy fibers of the wondrous anus

— juicy thigh kills the moon

rampant pears yelling /
                   dildo pulp / winged blood / stormy hunger

flayed dreams
frank cliffs of fresh livers
— /
. /
...  milky girl
slit my glans


How could I sodomize the light ?
Is there any enlightened delirious ass, out there, on the edge ?

Pale cannibal Danaé just slaughtered Clotilde, ate her fresh liver, and lay on my 
ramshackle bed, showing off that round milk-white butt.

At Obaoba, female flesh tastes like sweet corpses...
My shattered skull licking the sidereal bosom.

Just come and suck my marrow... only aesthetics will bleed me to death... I'm all sugar 
for your twisted thirst... my liver going wild on the tongue of the final sensory 
spectrum. Obaoba was a nightclub in Tangier, packed with fresh curvy meat.

Hideous fetus surging  roaring stridulating in warm juicy night.
The universe is a big obscene joke, dismal rubbish, ridiculous... a scarlet little beast 
yelling inside the fridge. My trembling bones squirt carnal cut-ups when they perceive 
the roundness of Danaé's butt ——

A giant sausage moves on, crawling on the milky edge of our pulpy galaxy.
The asshole of the Milky Way is not a black hole, no... it's a big big real fleshy 
anus, and it gets sodomized by bony silence.


Younisos writes what he calls carnal experimental poetry.” He is the author of Carnage Sensitif, in French; and is now looking for a publisher for his new book in English: Carnal Flux and Sensory Slaughters. He lives in Tangier.