Monday, December 12, 2011

LOST SOUL

poisoned memories of so many delightful, heartwarming commercials
in wake of slew of Soviet Russian knock-offs,
ad copy of Jesus' Neptunian meth lab calls for radical rewording
shepherd by mistake triggers something stupid,
sinks happy punctuation of sheep's bleats into laryngeal gnaw
wool turning into vivid, bloodless spray-on of depression
bullet hole perforation of salmonella death sex

impossible to find lost soul without manipulating thermal image
wearing bleedy genderless rat ski-mask Foursquare icon underground
cannot preserve status as awesome citizen – underground dweller
can only be looked at through layer of tar – possible to
wield complicated sewer system to tinker on bulges and dents
of thermal image – yet do not rely solely on large water droplets!
lost soul is 98% not washable!

nostrils a bit pruny from interminable sniffle, yet totally
safe, high and dry above ground in different state on different planet
part of gaggle of extraterrestrial farm equipment in waiting room, saying
to passing blue tentacled nurse how chair's like sitting on fucking cardboard

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