Sunday, May 13, 2012

NEW MORSE


A salacious glimpse amasses cleverly into
pond scum vortices. Resorting to pig-hosing
surgically, a sort of vibrating beard on a germ's
buttock.

Responding to a poke, the silhouette boomerangs.
A weird napkin, seething. Pupates
into a giant track suit, sluggish.

Grows with the sound of something crunching.
Like hitting a fresh spot on the punching bag,
causing a bending. Ontologically teleports –
resulting in paste flopping at the bottom
of someone's unsuspecting teacup.

A hunk of rain like sweat-filled jugs
splits the umbrella. In unison, R2D2
sheds a few snot pellets, calling them
samples of his new Morse.

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