The ark is not a credible vessel, but it
was spotted, a paradoxical stratospheric
dungeon boat. Though it rocked microbes better
than livestock, it was also the last carousel,
sandwiched between the role of fun fabricant
and particle streamer.
Who knows how employee training was meant
to go down, or how the thing lost its sight so that
road markings could exist unimpeded?
It was onboard this vessel that Kellogg’s
made bears safer, where indiscretions
played in a fountain leaking from the
dry-cleaning – what some people say about it
rivals gull gore others see from their hotel
beds, saw it returning to an oral Paris
and disgorging experimental sounds in death.
They climbed aboard the mere thought of
the apartment complex’s beetroot rugs.
He owes a stuntman an explanation, and meat –
he could give it in a tisket, in a building-sized basket –
but what happened to the great towering waves
definitely contained irony, and cheapened the bathtub
in which he got cynically drunk.
And news about his layoff for asserting morgue brain
for entertainment and for making frivolous
komodo dragons and monkey skateboards
survived hyperbole and entered a fugue
state with the ocean level.
An experience of a lifetime passes by – gets
off with obsolescence-happy meat and straw
and smelly pesticides and looking forward, drawn,
non-existent oars working harder than guerilla gardening.