open-ended veins dab alcohol
around the galaxy, sporadic powder,
undoing its signature edges – prosthetics
like the forlorn jaw of a ghoul
Spock's hooded face
in the shadow is a birdhouse
perhaps everything is a machine
that's been big and unheard
for far too long – and it's
now loudly stealing molecules,
one greasy molecule
at a time, dissection of a jelly bean
presenting marine insides
hopping around on a suburban lawn,
the raven looks ill in its cloth,
what were once feathers
partially atomized by the stimulation
of a lunar pill
meth invented inflatable knurls,
toothpaste for your new beak,
adhesive skin, once popular in the
construction of UFOs
