Tuesday, May 3, 2011

SO WHERE EXACTLY DOES MY ASS GO?

Enamored with the exit wound
the geometrical shape that adorned my room
Cheers to the painkiller, a fluffy minion hardwired to
the grille, psychically imparted by the exterminator
Foam scalp masturbation – wax of the spinal cord
dripping so long on hooks; one detail of the proton-pack omitted
a sort of follicle unplugged
Just an eggshell that used to be part
of the greater nausea, swimming around like
bewitched smurf spores
The blue barbeque's lair, enzymes like a fashion
to the tiny doomed aureola of charcoal
In spasmodic cellophane stacking packets of selective amnesia
that shoot lasers into the void
while crinkling like a nosebleed
On my perm's pulp adventure – an encounter with a
juggernaut which happened to be the salacious byproduct of
a rabbit. Dangling out of the poltergeist:
a cell-like endoscopic image of a hairspray canister
Afforded a bit of free time to scratch, so good, so goooooo-
an invaluable opportunity for the Ghostbusters
to stare into my gills. They'll see the crepe paper of
a tongue amid a terrible seizure, in sleep agonizing over
the exact location of the entry wound

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