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.

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