Matter's wet plop in original 3D, through the alternations
of a Rice Crispie's emptiness, tentatively,
moving across the kitchen counter in the arms of an ant.
Satellited by a flying fuck. The weather self-healing beneath the
squid visor. The flying fuck's snorkel. The snorkel's constant tone, eerie.
Sex Legoman's monotaint during arousal: suede.
A meat wall unbroken by genitals or anus or mouth,
up and around, from base of Lego skull
via crotch back to chin where Lego head resumes
its yawning. Snakes on a plane are genital Christmas trees:
one's mouth-anus has chin-balls. One's mouth
has a vagina. But Sex Legoman is all perineum.
Cheese-conduction occludes this T-1000.
Matter can be pawned, today. And through all of this:
magma. The electric provocation of hybrid fingers
raking a bonfire cold. Fire-resistant novelty spray on a space shuttle's
windscreen poking carrot-holes in space-fire. Consumption.
Porn receptacles emptied by the appetite of a single zoosperm.
Our local drive-in disguised by beer cans. Defects in matter.
Figures approaching, touching.