Thursday, December 29, 2011


A dollop's despair projection-mapped
on the toilet's interior. Definition higher in
the nightmare bulb's lurch; slopes swathed
with its smut. I think soon larvae will be
clotting the machine's husk, less smooth
than the epithelial linings of a
puppy's mouth. My heels, caught in its concrete,
one grade of unnatural higher. Webbed
and growing dense with arteries in
the morgue fridge, semi-translucent.

Cancellation of this war is nothing like
combining the germ's 7 pretty digits –
which are integral to making its pantomime
of attacking antibodies offensive, sort
of in bad taste. Circumventing excrement
on the pavement with the dubstep;
or causing excrement with same.

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