There were candles. It was very romantic.
And the skateboard float on which you married a crocodile.
In hindsight it was more like car sicking
in your Lacostes, lurching toward your very own personal gravity
armored with a chicken's ribcage.
Wash your baloney. Skate or die.
Martial arts debris on your morning stroll, the
universal constant around which it buzzes.
Cinema Nouveau? More like cinema dead kittens in a can.
A new transmission: technicolor dragon illusion buggers a mall.
Feeling left out. Hobo medical all over your crotch.
Lady Gaga's cancelled herbal remedy.