A
salacious glimpse amasses cleverly into
pond
scum vortices. Resorting to pig-hosing
surgically,
a sort of vibrating beard on a germ's
buttock.
Responding
to a poke, the silhouette boomerangs.
A
weird napkin, seething. Pupates
into a
giant track suit, sluggish.
Grows
with the sound of something crunching.
Like
hitting a fresh spot on the punching bag,
causing
a bending. Ontologically teleports –
resulting
in paste flopping at the bottom
of
someone's unsuspecting teacup.
A hunk
of rain like sweat-filled jugs
splits
the umbrella. In unison, R2D2
sheds
a few snot pellets, calling them
samples
of his new Morse.
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