a
sticky, musky ambiance owing to cuddling with three-pronged
bacterial
connectors, also responsible for
polygonal
recesses in X-Men tissue cultures
DNA
plug-ins, propellers detaching hair-root tails
the
snow tassel just before congealing into a marshmallow
resiliently
playing up the clown-influence
behind
smashing into a hobo's face and oh shit wait …
that's
more the providence of the bad mutants
also
more posh crimes, like storming in and against the backdrop
of
elevator music gumming up the dinner guests' bowels with
a
portentous, interfering rash of footfall-acoustics
they
(correctly) imagine an exploding skull providing the perfect
counterweight
to Christmas, as in the middle of the table
it's
recognized as only a small dark spot whose teetering in
the
middle of the table makes the guests feel disorientated
magnetically
hovering there, laughter from the spot
becoming
angled toward the end of the spot's life cycle
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