A parking lot's worth exhumed by grave diggers,
the Special K self-cancels, baroque.
Castration curdles in space.
The specter of alien home surgery ties
Bambi's
dangling rib cage and pickled rectum
together in a taxonomic rainbow as
elastic as the
magnetic fields of this very UFO.
Smokescreening, Elmo liberally smears
fecal wax on space's shiny
black horror-monolith, the root's
O-face sunk in rock, walrus-
weeping rusty achingly. Dreamy drapes
hang the thought bubble dirty, inside:
“Somewhere,” he thought, “a
bear-suited alien is getting sucked
off in the name of, and on an altar to,
his science, recumbent
as a wet pig.”
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