Strip-searched
toasty, weather permitting. Distorted by dirtse.
Flying
over the planet's coarse, dinosaur kitsch. The occasional
respiratory
spark due to the extreme environment.
Horny
360 degrees.
I
heard a story about plane-crash victims looking 'unborn,'
and
how if you wanted to bring them back to life you
needed
to restart the whole process of life, starting with birth etc.
I
heard that merely by screwing an LED into Styrofoam, a skillful
alchemist
can reproduce a fetus's intense nipple. Also, the crinkly
biomass
of its impending vinegar, flooding.
That's
how we discovered our little hero. Paralyzed aerially,
with a
musical squawk. Otherwise, this microbe's being so resistant
to
everything extreme = truly heart-warming. Also, on its furry BMX;
teeth
gripping the handlebars. At best, adorable teeth is universal.
We
became ill at the airport. Trying to break into the duty free
apothecary,
we found the lock inundated by a swamp. Like any untuned
mechanism.
So I said stand back, and opened the door by rolling
the
lock in my mind. Delicate work, like turning the crank on
a
paperclip's spine. It dissolves any interior flatness, so that it can
easily
slip
between two sheets of paper. Fine shit. The rest of this odd
connectivity,
it's merely transmitted into the bucket in your left hand.
Like
cow entrails.
The
cause of all this negativity in my robotic arm, it
has to
be its rootedness in ambiguous sediment. In
mall
skin and mall eyes. Though one can easily start a tractor
or
break a door down with it.
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