After climbing all the way to the top,
the waterslide rejects the mummy.
And the mummy's all like:
“My anatomy finds this ghetto affecting.”
Vermin turn inward
smiling out, on.
A grave has parked here, boiling underneath.
Idling in the undertaker's drive-thru. A suspicious
banging coming from the trunk.
That DayGlo tinnitus heaven's
corpse-people regularly hear.
Oh boy, did the bug-eyed principal ever place
Interesting obstacles in Ferris Bueller's path:
Existential office stationery, many zigzags grating at
The ankles, askew. To our lazy eyes a mere comfortable web,
laser fog outside-in, around.
Live in, live in it, live in everywhere at the expense
of everywhere, live in me.
I've understood that rescuing is normal, not alienating.
The blood vessels that cover it all up.
At the expense of it all.
Right then a comet would gut the floorboards,
then fall over, malfunctioning. Bueller bolting upright
in bed; the prostitute would always isolate chunks
of him and whatever else doesn't belong in the room.
She doesn't pay the mummy any attention
until the mummy's all like:
“You won't implode, man.
Go ahead –
harelip me three-dimensionally.
Fall in love, baby.”