Thursday, August 29, 2013

TRON - live sack

the super
computer's inner

Victorian deep-
throat mall taste

gall paste

flammable beneath our grasp

a snail rim

as thick-skinned
as alien

laundering sweatshirt signals
teabagging occult drones

rasping; crawling away in the depressing LEGO gutter,
a sack-enlivening
box cutter balancing
tenderly on
our biology's

sagging sepsis, with the irreversible arpeggios of pulp on a defibrillator.

TRON's canine complexion widens with relief –
poop cloning in the program's yellow eyes.

Talk about a traumatic reversal.

Monday, August 26, 2013

cryptic Tupac

Bog damage obeys its ramifications' insane assault leak, with graceful incongruity.
Hear the quarry's thrumming asymmetry. Splashy human being. Creampie interlinkages feathered in a grossly solid romance of honky diabetic offshoots and poached kid toy. The smell is not the only thing that improves. Derived transcranially from a clown, its poetic permutations pluck the passive intestine from a hot rod. Tupac is a two-pronged cryptid that coughs raw tranquility into the back of beef's throat. The cripple's rise's parts' sheen. A corruption of transparency; a theater seat grimacing beneath sex offender robot soldier balls. The numb glam of desiccated parking lot animal sacrifice. The absence of a theoretical butterfly limb contaminating the forest's complex vertical upholstery.

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

RAPE VAN II – another mutation

I lose hair in a trance. I then pay bogus money to get rid of this head of
recursive frisbee taint. The bane of flower petals not sitting flush.

Humpty Dumpty's scientifically impossible nipple ring
glances his lobster windpipe, which looks more worn with
each eerie, doorag-inverting exhalation and each chugging,
navel-tessellating inhalation...

Accidental religion under Airwolf's morgue hood.
Lumpy drips abracadabraed by the wifebeater of an aroused/accursed wife-beater.
The loose gravel proliferating around its Emo pump.
Proving memes have the lifespans of rubble.

And bear suits full of cum are a foible of the slave hordes,
long after their collective fungal bathroom fluff had clogged the gills eroded
into the cardboard cliff cutout in front of the villain's stuffy lair they
helped reticulate full of detours apropos of nothing. Shadowed roadworks,
gash-like in the glare of the kidnap-ambulance... 

Sunday, August 18, 2013


Mutation corrects the snake’s migraine eyelid.
A mass of kinetic ectoplasm unsticks from my leg, delivering
the pizza’s glans.

Happy processor and liquid hashtag meanwhile align into anatomically neutral hemispheres –
i.e. a grid of psychosis rolling across gaping little trunks on a demon axis of severe plush.
Alarm cancels the voice in my head.

Revenge as a stimulant dyes Snow White’s vine meta-ghetto.
Necromancy haunts death’s inflation with fantasy static.

The amusement park levitates
as one piece of holy
rampant silicone.

Eyestalks succumb to wonder, not alarm.

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Carlos Danger!

A clown has browned this area. Carlos “Bunsen burner” Danger's
science experiment conjured up a lifeless bicarbonate of soda burp,
by contrast. But an alleviated wormhole is still a ramifying wormhole:
IBM-noir innards – electronics as arcane as Bolivia, as heavy as New York –
purveying McDonalds as abstract as a virgin. Personalized resurrected fudge
compressed in a mold like the amygdala on LSD, pushing out through
the Martian layers of Batman's svelte rubber. The object of a tick's addiction
now singes its face. Sometimes an opaque coil strays like a black pube from
the otherwise transparent disease. Moldy pollution eclipses the hellishly bright
depression in those eyes, but soon settles and sticks to the floor.
Suddenly, in the clearance, you're being fondled by a plant. Face to face with
the plant: pain's beautifully fractured travels mirrored in the plant's sweaty face.
You two's two-headed mouth temperature; as warm as washing your hands
after the massacre. Nursing the bottle's cork remains demeaning to the blue
sinkhole of divinity. Groggy suicidal falling blocks are more widespread on
social networks. The Balrog's jumpsuit is sunshine-covered and its crotch
dispenses uranium PEZ. 

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