Matter's
wet plop in original 3D, through the alternations
of a Rice
Crispie's emptiness, tentatively,
moving
across the kitchen counter in the arms of an ant.
Satellited
by a flying fuck. The weather self-healing beneath the
squid
visor. The flying fuck's snorkel. The snorkel's constant tone, eerie.
Sex
Legoman's monotaint during arousal: suede.
A meat wall
unbroken by genitals or anus or mouth,
up and
around, from base of Lego skull
via crotch
back to chin where Lego head resumes
its
yawning. Snakes on a plane are genital Christmas trees:
one's
mouth-anus has chin-balls. One's mouth
has a
vagina. But Sex Legoman is all perineum.
Cheese-conduction
occludes this T-1000.
Matter can
be pawned, today. And through all of this:
magma. The
electric provocation of hybrid fingers
raking a
bonfire cold. Fire-resistant novelty spray on a space shuttle's
windscreen
poking carrot-holes in space-fire. Consumption.
Porn
receptacles emptied by the appetite of a single zoosperm.
Our local
drive-in disguised by beer cans. Defects in matter.
Figures
approaching, touching.
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