Connect the dots that side of the moon's
crazy pores spitting salt. Do not touch me.
The ambiguity will once again flow through psychotic
text messages; bats breastfeading the serial killing
facial malformity, skeletons scared of the broken
bone of Gorn tickling Ronda Rousey, lonely
DEF LEPPARD medieval, Reddit middle finger
severed in a Hollywood studio...
Babies made out of rock crack Wall Street;
bleak mountain corroded by Unesco poetry,
birthday card nonsense souped-up like pizza;
avoiding mating with it nopes any 911 operator's empathy,
contagiously yawning through the random science
native to Seinfeld, while eating...
The degree of harm of social media determined
by the sixth sense of bullies in dirty rotten T-shirts:
gun in mouth, toothpaste-hypersensitive...
dust off the dogs and deface the robots and
ponzi their laryngeal cremains. With woe
comes the terrible beauty's white bro octopus
ejaculate, falls a blissful smell, as well,
into an Eden for the dead.