The Exorcist – Another Mutation

Linda Blair felt closed in by the mirror. Scumbucket.

Her question to the 1c mystic seer

had disturbed a footlong in cryo sleep, Subway-grim;

inflatable thrasher, distant spanner.

Salt in the wounds of a prawn.

Yes, the Y chromosome is a jar full of vintage cunt-fear.

As a rustic amoeba, breaching the city limits hurt;

from within a makeshift black lagoon

its stalk thus pushed away the room's white lighting.

Its hybrid beef jerky spirit animal thus pushed through

the urban witch's scissors headlessly, smearing rabies as

quickly as it could; turbo-fiddly. Grilled to heavier powder in 
preparation for heavier hoovering.