Saturday, June 4, 2011


The transcendental supermarket is a mere theoretical construct,
but it sits on a very real bump in the middle of my breakfast.
Of course things quickly go south again, as from this lump of lifeless
earth I direct a totally theoretical stream of urine back into the vacuum.
Forgetfulness soon sets in, like an unreal celestial glow that perpetuates
to the inhabitants of the world the idea of anesthesia.
Short-term memory is one of those intricate, baffling sand castles a bully
stimulates into tiny drifting parts with the triangular malady of his feet,
knees, and knuckles. My hysteria is irreconcilable with the belief of
slowly, with each spoonful, inculcating the divine rights of cereal.

A petri dish of coils obtained at a totally theoretical dispensary
cultures into predatory Velcro; a strange parasite that looks like
a city underneath and whose crimes you can only solve with
the Turing test, since it's the best allegory for traffic lights we have.
DIY cures include hugging a piss-soaked Thesaurus:
by lubricating synonyms for 'premature internment' they can
wriggle off the many, many hooks. The hydroponic effect of the parasite's
gasses and body temperature can grow all your captured facets into a
goddamn tapestry, in which the coroner theoretically sees his own face 
and his subsequent religious experience wracks his chest viciously.

Those Fruit Loops hanging on the coat hanger that didn't get mushy
from all the cough syrup have the tendency to punch you in the fucking face

The ones that died still resonate strongly with moths
The coroner is emotionally still very connected to his mouth guard.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Search This Blog