“Enter The Lunch Box At Your Own Risk!!”
The peeling metal sign is a rather old photo of me in
my mossy sanctuary, hunched over,
absently playing with a twig.
At what altitude is the trapeze act avant-Sasquatch?
Pinball vertebrate in electricity, with crackles
precisely re-enacting a yawn. Terrible. Odorous surface variability.
An asteroid tenderized, its own sewage mourned operatically,
with some haunting coincidences in the soft fabric.
The pasta compartment best avoided at its most encephalitic.