Dew conceals the dayglo carny.
Like germs, in the tombstone’s blinking of sharpish
tissues.
‘Nice germ lance,’ Ernie says,
Re its alloy’s neighborly spasm
Amidst zero-gravity tendon-despair.
You’re a sickening shoplifter, she says.
Framed in falling soil.
Chipmunk ribs are numbers:
They reverse cowgirl nightmarish wheelbarrows.
The veneer’s slight gradient’s smell of wet
wool,
nacho cheese gleaming,
a dopamine pustule but full of water,
the rattling chunk of implanted gum,
inflammatory
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