Tracing a steak's journey from the eject chair into
being something floral, that poses unbroken except
for a broken back.
The way everyone stays safely visored behind
anything deforming its colors back.
Or rotting its rat a membranous velor.
Just in the normal course of need, wheeze from
spitting too much radar. On the leaf so many
bloodsuckers forge from commonalities
they themselves are leathery to – to, when naked,
represent the ultimate ghetto of the
Grand Guignol tangible.
Dragons scrape behind the processes,
like chemo flitting through a lot of rare Santa beard,
haunting the instrument a narrow junkie's bum
is needed for. The culmination of kitsch
plastered corpses closer up, and callower than expected.
No rush at all, human head.
Now that the place has been caught distorted.