Like
mind abandoning meat,
Brundlefly's
crimes affected the geometric.
A
cannibal for intimacy, he needed
gross
bits and pieces. Some bizarre fetish, perhaps?
Actually,
his first taste of mayonaise wasn't
on
meat but in
meat. Not his own vomit,
rather
the psychedelic pus of all human parts
put
together. Pain snail-footing it along in its
shoe,
all that lubricated light melting around
the
shoe's black windows.
On
which disco carpet you really couldn't
tell
the shoe apart from an ambulance,
an
ashtray, or, in analog, one of Brundlefly's computer's
sentence
structures, crawling, in glaucus, deep-sea
transit,
a tunnel-reinventing field trip reinventing
tunnels
around every object in the
disgusting
bachelor’s apartment ... making it strange.
A fly
suddenly goes on auto-pilot (a truly funny thing).
Driven
by plain curiosity, a plant might leapfrog
off
the windowsill; crushing a car below.
A
small dose of sunscreen waxes psychiatric
on
tan, knobbly scalp. In bed, one fat, gator clawful
of
crayons messily accentuates a lover's contentment/
well-being.
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