Friday, June 29, 2012

MY COMPUTER HAS A WORM


hard to undo its actually liking the fibers in my computer,
and it knows where it's going, as if it's been here before,
like a catheter turning just the right corner in the old IBM –
making having a chainsaw present desirable,
cutting the worm in half, two ends bolting blurry backwards,
a diet of bark around different honey touching. It likes rummaging
at a creepy volume, drilling, and singing, worm-
vaudeville in middle-of-the-night plasma,
in all modes after death mismatching its color to metal body
turning insides soft and leaving outsides hard,
modifying that old carrot into a leathery exoskeleton,
a subway padded until hitting the tougher head
bucket cartilages soon to become buoyant overflowing fluff
facial larvae compressing, sinuses knowing awkward clog,
as all things parasitic are propelled secretly from pockets
eggs dialed softly obliquely to eggs' own ingredients –
the Nerf ball's abstract as distinguishable from its teeth
in place of immediately transforming into the bright,
emotional arcade on a stick, for optimal disclosure wearing
on fingers the bacon light bulb, that causes an effect,
hooks a horror, fries a continuum, involves arbitrary
swarming of thought unique from supplying random access with
chopping up a dwarf, outside around among the toilet paper
refusing whatever would not load, having never known such hopelessness
yet so soft, the landing, it feels like passing from inside mice,
the worm making of its own body a noose to cancel its one
neurotransmitter pining in the comfortless unclear

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