EASY AMUSEMENT AS GIFT

my parents are proud of giving birth to a vibrant, and pretty stupid stem cell

a transparent hologram covered in motivational hives

invisible only after a dark, depressing shave

I’m sitting in the tiny oval cockpit of the Xanax snowflake poke

I’m a rich bitch swathed in puppy gear

this collar? these buttons?
this boa?

hundred percent puppy  

and somehow I am an interplay between depraved taxidermy and albino ribbons of glass

larval climax all over my chin, quite grim: all objects are seen first through the beard

my husband enjoyed the straight walk over, though – didn’t say hello or nothing

just suddenly climaxed, without provocation or anything

the capsules in your palm are trying really hard to be taboo

they’re not fooling anyone – I think they’re cute

like when he drops a salad bowl on my head

these vortices and parallelograms extended to the house in which I live

this house’s foundations, caught in one of Kubrick’s more gravid plots

and the moon buggy’s physical personal chassis – conducive to comic strandedness

bwa-ha, the crater in his left nostril flange mocked

at night her dreams are infiltrated more by strange garments than the strange creatures wearing them – or she notices them in that order: first the straightjackets, then the inflatable ambitious squid wearing them  

tortured toothpaste is striking exaggerated poses

a voice like sighing MRI says that it is the work of the first-aid Transformer kit:

for the walls are owned differently here – leg-kinked, palsied private collector’s barcode Banksy, ironic flirtation squirming on the Band-Aid

it’s now all about aerosol making up the fog around the gorilla handprint

for each morning her husband wakes her up by placing all his fingers around her face, softly