Grisly thermometers coat
Castrated computer corkscrews.
A virus meant by
Taking a shower and putting on a suit.
Loose testicles plunge into my eyes
A flock of bleeps.
For a day of fun and practice.
The illegible occurs
When corpses do best burger headstands.
Digitally harvesting bacon's illegitimate red,
The Greys are coming.
I fill the Internet with backhanded dread.
Once unplugged, I'm like a garbage can penetrating a melted cat.
Airpockets around the world stay online to grow rats.
They are hoping that eventually they'll grow the ghosts of their children.
Usually what's happening is I'm smiling because I'm alive.
A boy pulled in two from the ruins splashed on newspaper front pages
Sings his ghostly song while my joy cries.
Before, a 9-year-old, too, died.
Rat-proof garbage cans penetrate cats capable of gnawing through subway squeezes.
I use the oracle beneath where the tunnels fall to draw dark eyes
On newspaper front pages scared all the time.
I expect them to gaze long across long-tailed concrete.
The ghost of a 9-year-old is smiling because
Blood may be weened off the pants of a paramedic at night.
Anyhow now, mountains of trash grow up coffins with huggable hangers for arms.
Tons of bathers buried in an airpocket of rubble roast gingerbread penises.
I grab a magazine after I pull into the meat department. No one inside saying anything is as gruesome as things can get. The magazine empties first franchises. Chairs and meat are not the same as they used to be. Going down on my phone, I think it's the right way to center overeating handbags followed by cameras through a malignancy. A black metal gate has feeling in 12 of its teeth. I grab my meat and stuff it with the insides of a magazine. One black metal tooth sucks at boo-bruises on my cheek. Unused magazines phone more cameras followed by malignant tissues that stuff the first franchise shooting. Grinding down to one black metal chair, I empty my meat and ever since have developed a fear of the outdoors.