Thursday, April 12, 2012

MR BURNS' PRIVATE JIG


The killer robot walks through Springfield
and hunches over something on the grass,
something which thereupon slithers away.
With a dental alloy so baroque, why would the
little snail still be so shy?

Imagine the tons of hunger that sucker,
that aperture from hell,”
can decompress.

Walk through Springfield with an internal zoom capability
working your pond-green killer robot visual grid,
and other things grab your interest.
It is pretty common to see a mosquito
casually gesture with its weaponized irritant:
i.e. a goddamn tire iron!

Charles Montgomery Plantagenet Schicklgruber Burns
faces the large window.
Into the camera, a radiation wedgie dissects dirtier
with its harmful spotty bacon
posterior climb.

His Chernobyl poltergeists
suffer manually, doing turbo Pilates
with a stranger strange hunger.
Lotus for electricity.

With his old-man's visage Bart Simpson reflects
how last year a succession of bugs, drawn
to the little lights, totally
soaked their Christmas tree.

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