You might be standing on the bridge between
purity of density and interplanetary walkie-talkie.
You might not find it so awesome.
The digestive enzymes of the universe brought the
eviscerated mite to the forefront. Pinned to a
kitchen plank. Four pins. Mite-awful cancer up-close-fanged.
Then as you're gazing on, your thorax
pops out of your toupee – standing in stark contrast to,
but not meaning it any bodily harm, the
amusement park ride's well-advertised [with rivulets of
vagina and segmented fruit] proboscis.
I want to hear the meow in its reusable sushi flip-flops,
so I turn the volume knob of the space walk.
The building blocks of your junk will reap the benefits of
the green spirit alloy.