Tracing
a steak's journey from the eject chair into
being
something floral, that poses unbroken except
for a
broken back.
The
way everyone stays safely visored behind
anything
deforming its colors back.
Or
rotting its rat a membranous velor.
Just
in the normal course of need, wheeze from
spitting
too much radar. On the leaf so many
bloodsuckers
forge from commonalities
they
themselves are leathery to – to, when naked,
represent
the ultimate ghetto of the
Grand
Guignol tangible.
Dragons
scrape behind the processes,
like
chemo flitting through a lot of rare Santa beard,
haunting
the instrument a narrow junkie's bum
is
needed for. The culmination of kitsch
plastered
corpses closer up, and callower than expected.
No
rush at all, human head.
Now
that the place has been caught distorted.
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