Laughter properly villainized,
scattering all the spiders
on the flower,
crystals in the placenta.
Mostly blue ones like intravenous Orcs.
With the help of all the nuclear conditioner
in a hair's world, this process
almost siamesed
the spiders' cheekbones.
Brokenness known to
the Happy Meal toy
demon milkman
- draped in gold silk
some hormone-enhanced silkworms
in a sweatshop had made
for him, who'd fucked you –
Above the pain in his chest
his dog was ordered to put a hat.
In the large dark cavity
head-muck supposedly Play Doh-ed
its own little weather system,
which felt good.
Of course, like a scarecrow separating
in the wind, this entails major atomic overload:
a force that once put a potato
behind the karaoke mic,
told it not to sing but to hover
and hover
and hover
mechanically dolphinized its face;
as if it were a fish bowl, bleached it;
and into the same potato's asshole
fired a miracle from
a Nerf gun.
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