Sloshing on the swallower
Of lifeforms corralled for slaughter
Spoon like space and color
Condemned to the cycle
Of a lifeform then
A swallower then a
Lifeform slaughterer of the manager's special
Cradles me like the newborn
Snail on a spider
In the corner of greatness
Without a maker
And one day I'll stick
To the sequence of the jellyfish
Commanding from long beards
Whether it's called a centipede
Prior to the final rebirth
BETTER THAN DYING SO SPANK IT
And lots of cute girls love that premature baby
Looking fabulous as it hand glides.
And lots of cute guys love that gallbladder
Squashing along like a hot pink premiere
With a gazillion pantsuits fashioned from surgical lights.
And soundscapes of emphysema
Litter the soy sauce strangeness
Of a romance between conjoined twins
After they've sawed each other apart to death; to
Shanghai, my Father looks for a peculiar strain of cilantro, then
Spends his deep strangeness inside an op art cage
WHITEY BOUND FOR MARS
I euthanize the live ones.
I call them an angry force or the shitty.
After hours in a fishbowl,
More consumers cite parasitic worms
Than all other media combined.
I'm just going to keep my head down to avoid
Seeing the whale carcasses decomposing in the chow hall.
It's hard to prevent my drunken driving from sucking one of them.
Central midmorning of thick crowds
Gropes and stalks those religious people
Like they're the bloodiest and certainly
The most anatomical martyrs
Since Sam Walton and George Dayton.
An avalanche refloats
Well out to sea.
I concentrate on the boiling rovers.
Pupils of ink rejoice in treetops
Rubbing rivers to take impressions
Of overcooked, human-like relaxers,
Small and seasalting
The rattles at dawn, and inside
The larvae is a drowned spirit
Deep pits with basements
And 99 atmospheres
That reboot me just fine
As dirt washes and blenders pulse, I place
Corn down the invader
Off-tick my pen hours, the socks and broth
Prep for weeks
An eden of the small, marvelous fawn
Sipping from a river and nervously gawking
At seasides of egg, the
Hissing when all my sadness is lawn
YOUR FRIEND, FRIEND
Said day-playing gnostic games takes
My lungs away, as then a gypsy
Exposes the soul-crushing delay
And she brandishes me
With a swearing by God that
When heralded refills
The eden of my pit
The rubber pupils
The socks in the casket that lay and lay
Up a passenger told an officer
Of threats throughout the lawless remote
Like neverending gears within the wildcats
Urging me to nourish a real fruit
Mouthwatering aroma flavor
Dangerous levels of spatula, a record snowfall
Over steady backbeats
From the octopus I bow