you couldn’t cure my criminality so
it’s every night a hotline walkout
my alligator hide cringes under a confluence
of grooming tips and then the sudden
meaningless, green-noduled bleep
i easily peel against the lizard lid of
my despair
an emptiness or a marathon of wig trampling
social light years imitate the gape:
an imitation gape
telephonic goldilocks is held hostage, it’s become
a death row where’s waldo
in here
the autumn lava lake’s great performance
ended in a copper spout, a big tap for beer jaw
play along to songs teaching cuts
to osmosis, the lazy fast-food route
to death, the fucking funny blood type
after many years i finally got round to churning
brain soda, and so now, finally, a fat kid
got named after me; a desperate cure
needed for a guinea pig like me
said fat kid saw a strange number on a cereal box
plus then also: energy critically eliminated from the
grace of the underboob
they’re electronic golden braids and they’re
really running away from me, and it’s:
hilarious
almost as though the hotline is
taking them for prank calls!
scalpels run amok
no vaccines against
evenly distributed
emptiness, deactivated in a dog-eared restroom;
homemade contraption reaching out
comes equipped with crème brulee
clowns rallying together pushing for:
railway teeth rainbow burp
and signifying nothing to these
professionals
on purpose?
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