Collective poem , By : Th.D.Typaldos /Craig wilson /Mohsen Elbelasy / onfwan fouad/yasser abdelkawy /Ghadah Kamal

Monkeys running down to the coast
They ‘re drinking salty water mixed up with fire
A butterfly screaming notes on a piano
The pictures of a death who stopped before
the mother eat her baby
The city of monkeys chewed by brokers mouths
Deaf memory has no future
Oh monkeys, burst out of the cans that you inhabit
and ring the forbidden fire bells
I remember this well
There was a sign hanging at the entrance of the field
It says: “You are not here and you will not be”
You are there, where the forest is burning and wrinkling
The Burned corpses of kangaroo are released into the sky
spears of fire falling over my head
There is a sign
It says: “This is not your head”
This is an egg that cats will come out with wings from it
That egg will laugh like algae in the swamp of my head
A baby girl falls on the false floor
The physical system is changing
I am a wood
Silence icecubes
He puts icecubes of silence
In his mind’s glass
He drinks the wine of worrisome
In a glimpse
He burps the world
Extending his hands
To the Christmas Tree
From it
He takes the breast of the sky
He presses on it
By his six fingers
Extracting a black milk
He bites his tail
Silence moans
Ice is not as clean as we have thought
Like that silence
Who puts the sole of his foot
On the cheek of green frost.

Green frost leaps from the black milk
And the smoke of the night
Breaks the locks to abandoned houses
Where people sleep in corpse flowers
And the walls are painted with berry juice
That rained from the icy skies laughing
At the cul-de-sac skating rinks
Sparkling in the daytime like
The echo of a broken diamond
Like the enlightening water, the boat is heavy with shadows and dark fire
Mad of changing lights
Searches for vocabulary in memory volcanoes
Then he decides to write it
As he writes each word
It freezes and melts into the paper
In a moment of noise and ice cubes
Falling from his nose
Where a map of the world resides
In the secret continents of his sinuses
Which resemble black olives

The shops of surrealism
Are wax-sealed
By the sperm of consciousness

In the basement of the unconscious
Are born the mutants
In one of the condoms of Artaud

A bug is thinking about
Its escape from Marx’s head

Under the skin of the Christ
Words are boiled

Every penis has
Its own intinerary
Towards its doom

The big pyramid
Is where are curses
Are being mummified

The World Health Organization
Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha…
That’s how dead people laugh

The cure of the world
Is hatched through coitus

It’s the fun-hole of the future
The blasé waffles of didgeridoo wigwams
Whose names are record albums
Spun in Norse boudoirs
Where snow-weasels fly
to tease your hair into a static cling

Birds falling from the bottom towards the sky enter my eyes like knives made of flaming snow.
And I’m dissolved in the colors of primitive memory .

I’m melting ,
I dissolve .
Monkeys with feathered hats urinates in the mouths of bank’s pigs.

Earth is a virus
And the sun is a priest who rapes the children

These monkeys are lost in their heads like a butterfly in a vacuum. We can no longer leap from the same step-ladders; we are bugs in the lawn in search of new leaps.

Collage by Ghadah Kamal

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