Friday, February 28, 2014

Homerian Kiss

From the prophet's 12 story-high speaker stack comes the word Hello.
Wooting Dengue Dengue at a baby's photo op.
4chan suction circles on the plastic coffin grow a titty –
tweaking the Hawaiian shirt to extrapolate gangsta-goulash
          like the Grim Reaper dragged through
          pores of Getty images.
A vegetative NATO moonshot by the Freudian uvula in
          a caveman's violin
          approaches Mongolia.
Swiss-cheesed by the complex
coiling steam of X-rays
electro-blushing in ice-blood
          in a commercial.
Some invigorating recycling via horny lapses
          into spiritual horsehead.
Acclimating to a piece of shit under one's skin –
towers of darkly marching isolation absorbed by saliva,
palindromes splitting fantasy novels into otter-formations.
Aerial violence fishes everywhere,
          depleting the beetlejuice of the everywhere like
the orphan colonies permeated by Homer's kisses. 

Tuesday, February 25, 2014


The tattoo on Fred's abscess eases the pressure within. Like kittens, knees jailed, crawling inky over parking lot veins. Super-smut tapers below the resurrected grid with the sensitivity of pearls in a layer of boring Bing. Explodes into condensed e-vomit, ugly. Knowing that 911 is an app, knowing that it is a contraption that is not good to use near trees. Insomniacs vape more vapaciously than anyone else, apparently. Maybe they're addicted to Earth-fucking. Clowns are, as they say, clones: they let us slip on their tentacles at carnivals. Their testicles. Stabbed snowflakes curdle then disappear, like. As I was saying the toilet does not at first fully obscure the Lamb – meta-crustaceans in the keyhole decapitate peeping toms by sucking all the calories out of their eyes. This is called annihilation by means of a dramatic EXIT of swallowed lice. The digital ghost was a mango, not Harvey Keitel. Frying in an astronaut's science-warm pan, bashing a metropolis. Godzilla, not Pinocchio, was a child actor who never knew the joy of playing with the trippy jelly of their own pulp/poop. 

Friday, February 21, 2014

Lego Rape

brain imaging a bag of dicks
when seamless becomes psychedelic 
a turnstile with long arms and a short body
one's hair, during teleportation, from turbulence
reconciled with hurtful Mars attacks in pizza delivery
mythical expletives rapped via chainsaw
gore triggered by D&D vagina
the Chernobyl beast's pungent arousal
jagged gravity, which the invaders feast on
electricity is a dirt trap
her autopsy, imaginary
teenage vampire merman 
his ant eyes, discharge
guts picked swirling in ocean cartilage
arrhythmia at the center of a balloon
parallel to the tasteless adder
tiny mouth, like a beige rim of dental plaque
when rats rape Lego
their orgasms are deposited on remote Uranus
Satan freezes them first 

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

The Wizard

Nougat, but the ossified kind. Like white noise creeping,
but tangible. Raccoons turned to pulp, then reanimated in God's
cartoon hands. Their crimes embedded in the clown particle of fear-feces
that shrouds a continent. An old cathedral full of groaning senile thin zombie aliens
covered in pigeon droppings. Segways wormed awry into
gutter-simulations by SkyNet in “extruder mode,” robot lung
affected by wheelchair wind. Flappy tasered squid, flowers wedged
between cheeks. The wizard's proboscis homes in;
the heart symbol between bearded breasts, on a chain. Obscure.
I would really like the cowgirl treatment, please.”
In a gross dream about the woods - or woods in general – I had squeezed 
the wizard's balls; the BBQ slapstick had been haunted (reassuringly) by
an Amazon drone, theatrical. In the Louvre hangs a painting the size of an ice rink
riddled (fittingly) with 8-bit weather. Lava separating from the flayed
mug of SpongeBob “SkullCramp” SquarePants, like paint, running.
A person standing at the side of the road disappears. Sucked off
by the wizard.

Sunday, February 16, 2014

Diarrhea Derp

For MySpace barnacled up,
The psychic hole lidded by an earwax peace sign,
A boil stitched LSD shaded.

An organ donor's newly empty galaxy downloads
Christmas plasma, secretes monster GIFs
overnight, spitefully sexy.
Nurturing a popcorn skeleton.

passions chemically tie my sneakers
canaries dislocated by
a smuggler's asshole

The dark derp of preserved weasel.
Of dinner crashing flexing into knives.

Friday, February 14, 2014

Valentine's Poem IV

Strangling tele-puke with a Telecaster
is exactly like draining a glove. I mean, why shoot, thanks.

Popped bloodstreams, repeating indigoid.
Numerous quit, helped fast far over
dangerous head smells outside around
next along. Too close together, welcoming &
chiming on my space chair.

Whale song that tells me
what the television is doing
breaks, like a witch blanking the beefiest frog.
Indeed, willing, optional fan art, on the floor,
mashed fountains, difficult in the dark.
Accessed viscera quirk crocodilian quack,
bludgeoned to trash tripedal-tailed.

Manga Smithers enters green void:
driving like an idiot. Distortion pedal to
the metal. The lattermost email tool alternates
between goatish and fancy nonsense
attached to the ejector seat
attached to orchids that choke e.g. a condom.

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

The NSA's Dong

Awkward tears sneezed through a small slug grommet, hell yeah.
A stretchable pacemaker erupting into gross robotics, soft horror.
I'm where surplus heads dock the egg of amputee-pliable heroin.
Drugs are bad for you. So here, huddled cryptids scrape a deceased loved one's
feces into bundled smileys, fattening the NSA's dong on sonic ribbons, 
insinuations, faces, Sonic the Hedgehog, a gobbled-up dinosaur infographic's 
subplot: i.e. “Gandhi is global-warming lethal Coke into a brake fluid screensaver
a-la happy winking selfie!” Or: “My bike's dimming, yuh, yelling, thirsty.”
“Coal's origami nipple disturbed by our fucked up cheap little magnet
and the vagrant asymmetrical shart of its noise-figure.” “Alright sorry, bye.”

Sunday, February 9, 2014

Conjecture Station #sundaypoem

duct tape that captures the werewolf implant

ignoring the kitten-impactor
sleeping through hours of slime

Evil sticks gum to the

kindly organically goblins,
spooning shedding skin, obtuse stewing,

the nickelodeon unplugs
bugs that dazzle and hack the effect on the eye

of a cardboard cutout of
Death's scrotum ahaha lol

Thursday, February 6, 2014

Garden Chair Anus

clothes clog shit up in the dishwasher.
a liquidized cockroach has sprouted
too big bionic fuzz, its consciousness 
smeared blue by taco bell'sfold-out” wrist, 
a nod to the mind-boggling mechanics of 
a decepticon whacking off, spitting white trash resin
while sleepwalking in a hollow grinning
creep; bleeding sewage, whirring naked
in a shopping trolley. urinating on junk yards
on earth; anus resting on a garden chair
on mars. the cadaver worsens the movie theater.
the suicide-impressionist's best gesture
sinks in a flutter of postmortem milk
smoothly circuited by clothes.

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Shoot Self.

Stars slip slippers on, magically. Ambush a little spacecraft. I smell a lot of flames on each star. A fly sizzles in a dystopian color. Nuclear poop cracks cracks in suns, because light is backward-facing. LaForge slips a skinny cat over his head, sees. The cat is made of tin, and while raping the blind man's eyes feeds from an old Hustler fashioned into a bowl, or just a flat screen, ripples of colorful mold. Which can be poked, with affection. The tin cat does (poke it). Unlike normal hugs, Facebook pokes can't transform into gymnastic danglings. Internet smells of enlightenment. Cooking smells of BO. The way a torture device spoils fish, spam arouses my affection. The small skin cancer I am fighting is oblong, flat, phallic, huge, sand; the Street Fighter d├ęcor curls infinitely. My pants feel one-sided. They are. There are matching skeletal dunes in Dune. Harsh sand, sun, sunglasses. Dick-faced worms. Hovering, time-traveling pussies. The sandpeople don't really believe in “ambush,” a little, very blue-eyed boy once read (on the back of a bottle of “Ambush” spice). Their motto is “shoot self.” 

Sunday, February 2, 2014

Iguana Dental Crowns

A swell of Pokemon appendages mayonnaising weird temperatures on everything equates with suffering. Fungusman enters a bar, suffers. Brain edge shaken squid nude, glitching spectral. The saturated feel of a Kalashnikov pointing at mushroom patrons, its usually silent parts hooting silent. Sporous ice-cream lurks, wet-dreaming sinus-bubbles, astringent, gets dropped. Gets picked up again, a neon spider euthanized in a panic, wet floor-dropped arachnoid caricature deepening. Garbage humps things. Complicated and sometimes nice things. A donkey-fucking frankfurter laces hives, colonizing like winged sperm crapping headless. Goatse cocktail corpse-o-rama: foliage purges bees. Strap-on holes, hilarious for their violent mastication, distill Ms Jetson's strap-on iguana lizard's gold fillings into cumwinged pocket change. Voltron flipped Fred Flitstone's taint around a knife, hung itself, safer, on a redneck's bullet hole stickers.   

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