I loved the Tooth Fairy even after learning
it was in the habit of clothing itself in goatse.
I could see even after geysers of human nature
dimmed the toilet. My face suddenly erupted in
LED whiskers – and I could sort through the immense
paper work even while transmuting into an invertebrate weed;
one with the wrong sort of mental health.
Something has gone to my head. I
shouldn't have eaten all those hot hairspray glands.
I was drawn with dabs from Godzilla's fingerprint palette.
During some sneaky interlude, I must've devolved into a giant
sperm plug carried by winged fungi high up
into the air and dropped down onto a rapist's head.
Good: let all his thoughts turn into fat non-categories.
With corpse-hinge seeking Kinect edification.
Sawing through Band Aid wearable
confetti that turns the aquarium
milky. Flees seeking treatment for depression in hysterectomies.
Superman writing incoherent obituaries
in the childish hand of the millions of unborn.