Friday, January 17, 2014

Hate Poop

A spaceturd brains space. The funeral will be held
with tweezers. Crack-spat genies fistfight
relatively austerely, unlike the starving.
With the booming quaver of popcorn,
acid-stripped clots hungrily uncoil from
syphilitic skullcraters. A more overwhelming fantasy
than YouTube rhinoplasty is the spaceape’s hair,
which the curse turned into a vehicle for crumbs.
Once triggered, the entire séance had reflexively
stood back. The priapic prison from which Smaug
hate-poops is an obviously dead bud. 

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