Monday, April 13, 2015

Midnight Vomit

There is, in space, slime. I hope so.
Iron maiden ass expanding. Danger protruding.
Jack the Ripper on blood speed-coil, in fucked-up backpack plasma.
Intrepid flexibility skinned hubcaps. Rape chemicals sniffed lumpy.
Can mango brain water crank enough nerve.
Because I ate the cookie. That’s a problem.
I can’t drive now. Do you understand that.
That this is a problem. Rabies rumba.
The freaking movie demonizes rhythmic.
Can with delicacy alienate live chemise.
That this is NOT the rock ‘n’ roll idea. Endless scalpel wielding.
Television boiling. Big-ass dead cannibal imagining.
Turmoil pricks: they kick against a mask of the like.
Waffle here today. Transplant strobe tomorrow.
Despite accidental spaghetti, glue heaven.
Can vomit midnight blowing college aliens;
Keep the lights on a robot vanishing. Spinal cord looming.
Kittens teabagging a spring of the night:
Terror-dating the imaginary drilled purge

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