SEGMENTED SPIRIT ADMIXTURE

You might be standing on the bridge between

purity of density and interplanetary walkie-talkie.

You might not find it so awesome.

The digestive enzymes of the universe brought the

eviscerated mite to the forefront. Pinned to a

kitchen plank. Four pins. Mite-awful cancer up-close-fanged.

Then as you're gazing on, your thorax

pops out of your toupee – standing in stark contrast to,

but not meaning it any bodily harm, the

amusement park ride's well-advertised [with rivulets of

vagina and segmented fruit] proboscis.

I want to hear the meow in its reusable sushi flip-flops,

so I turn the volume knob of the space walk.

The building blocks of your junk will reap the benefits of

the green spirit alloy.

WERE I YOUR SCURVY YOUR SAILOR

As Euclidean tights they can only really be rocked

by Mighty Mouse. The towel empurples.

Based on the design of their runny noses, shrimps

have taught us new combinations of uses for

trumpets and porridge. Are secretly

enamored with the enema a scurvied sailor

had tossed overboard – pale pink, cracked.

Clowns who know influenza is a variant of the

metamorphosis of meringue.

Infatuation with a novelty coaster and the tailcoats

of Italian vignettes stood on by your heavy glass,

as they try to run away and in the process get disrobed.

If you could read my mind, something of you would pool ankle-deep

inside a funnel. AIDS sold to a hobo by a godlike salesman.

Ominous. The clothes rustling in the Trojan trolley:

I bet I'm in there, and I bet no one suspects it.

And I bet I'm gonna jump out and make a fool of myself.

Between the parentheses of the prosthetic brace:

the ebbs and flows of nothingness that allow themselves to be parsed.

With a ruler. A shoe. A dismembered penis wearing a shoe.

Over the edges of sorcery's paper cut-out trick of the eye,

the Metropolis's metabolic quicksilver hisses and showers.

Sleeping with a cloven mermaid. She's ambulatory.

Can walk. Learning from a shop assistant the sinful practice

of parrots – text messaging

while walking. 

 

On her deathbed sticky as a hot iron,

but beautiful as a scratch card with coin-shaped welts.

The world is not sinister.

From the front I'm operatic like treetops – from behind

I'm a food processing plant.

VIOLIN JETPACK GAS

the troll rowing team's stream

was more gravitational               playground

geysers of sleep                        snail sleep

sojourning as brittle words 
in the den of typewriter hex

to become an outer-realm jetpack

violin musters gas station goodness

My memory of post-apocalyptic sweater

the aftermath of bathing the burger effigy?

The teddy bear bacterial murder vacuum leathery in morning person-type arms

SHARING THE SAME GLANDS

Greedo hotted up

on a date fly open drunk

in a bubble bath extrapolating

this experienced based on the joys

of submerging your toe in

the noxious necrotic undead

petri dish back home

festering on the doorstep

humanoid leg humping

figure genetically spliced

with cannibal sharing

built-in oral super-glands

super-nodules built to take

real abuse from all
types of condiments

the two as one reconfiguring

their emotional connection

to gross ejected material

on chair to accommodate the CLAMP

for the CLAMP gets lonely

for it seems the stethoscope

has been hostile and mean

and now sees the shakiest tableau

only the strangest shit in the

mind of the bed-ridden facehugger

can no longer coordinate

with its limbs it is

not quite a happy stethoscope

C-3PO jerking off

with mesmerizing

speed to bright sunny

outlines of pillow

dancing salaciously on

his torso

the mindless silence

of gray metal US

military drone in Angry Birds

an entity not even part of

the same pizza topping

asteroid family but cruising

around the top half

of the screen at all times

wanting in wanting

to be accepted 

THE ACTUAL SIZE OF MY TIE

That side of the rural matrix (that farm plexus – nearly indistinguishable

from the stretch of land on this side of the fence) – is mimetic wax.

Droplets rolling down a solar panel - like the necks of Muppets

craning peculiarly – surge, and form leaning grass.

The gurgling craters in diarrhea serve as a model for the parallel

universe of suckers on my ass.

From your hair a creature arises, a creature with glowing eyes,

and raising his palm to his forehead, he says to himself:

“Paint job with fiber-optic syringe goes here.”

Doing Pilates

covered in a

resin that

is prayer

repellent.

Strange

moth

in my

Nutella –

the intensity of whose yells are measured

in Fahrenheit, the toxicity of McNuggets in terms

of glare, and Ikea:

porousness.

The average intelligence of the animals in the zoo goes into

the semiconductor, tries to escape – then finally emerge

from the loudspeakers:

as hillbilly voicemail.

Lobsters do successfully remove sleep from their eyes with their claws.

Constant pain does incubate hot dogs.

Jason goes down to the very acme of the Periodic Table, where

in an eating contest he gets his tie tangled with a woman

twice [the tie's size].

DAMNIT!

There must be a pie chart for the emotions of EVERYBODY –

not just for the few lucky jars of 
undernail collectibles 

THE NINJA AND THE POPSICLE

Back when everybody was passionately illiterate,

instead of hate mail a person got impassable kidney stones.

They were also untraversable and unclimbable.

Adding insult to injury, a despised ghost contracted

irritable bowel syndrome via a homemade, as

opposed to curio store-bought, Ouija board. Man, those

were the days ... Good, honest overuse defoliated your

toilet plunger – giving it an incredibly hot body.

If you were a surfer and decided to take up skateboarding,

your skateboard was almost sure to digest your nipples.

Dusty, crouching, sand-fingering behemoths sitting

on the sidewalks had hobbies, too: left for dead,

the potato they resuscitated would enunciate phrases of

street talk nearly indistinguishable from

pieces of the suicide bomber nearby because

their general import would essentially be a testament

to suede puke. At a Chinese restaurant, where biting your nails

would be the only item on the menu. Man...

And muscle-bound kittens hogging the karaoke stage,

until finally there was only a heap of baked cookies

presided over by a mist of ribbed, coiling headache,

would typically mark the end of a night out.

Microwaves cackled when loaded with the jewelry of

rich chicks. Sesame falling from the sky hurt

dinosaurs' eyes, eventually turning them all blind.

Dinosaur meat quenched many coffins

at the close of the Jurassic era. This one learns

in school. Sure, but in two thousand years from

now your kids are going to learn something pretty fucking

disturbing; namely, that a certain gene perverted by a combination

of pharmaceuticals would give a hermetic, mountain-dwelling

popsicle an embarrassing propensity for garish, tie-dye

hazmat suits, and would also instil in a sociable, extroverted

ninja a propensity for late-night reality TV – on which in a

stoke of fateful coincidence the hazmat-wearing popsicle

would meet the former in bloody (unfaked) combat. 

BLOODLETTING AT THE NURSING HOME

THE ENTREPRENEUR got rich by telling people to wish on a star

the way he displaced my need for therapy for post traumatic stress disorder was less lol-worthy than the means chosen by my therapist

the morning after proving their redundancy to him, he indiscriminately beat all his henchmen to death

it was probably a waste of time being East European, looking like a Cabbage Patch Kid from so much steroid abuse, and being the henchman of a self-sufficient entrepreneur

MY THERAPIST usually ordered me to brandish a squirt gun at targets set up all over his office

issuing from the nozzle was meant to be the theremin, rainbow ejaculate of VHS cassettes containing my favorite cartoons

the teenage bonobo that molested me as a child wore a tinfoil hat to prevent the projection of a spiny, curvy caricature of the utopia he imagined himself inhabiting on the smooth, unspoilt surface of the dark presence beneath the hat he apparently embodied like a thickly lacquered marionette, and is now living in a nursing home where he is constantly shunned by the residents for animal cruelty

for some reason, all his exploits are likened to smashing berries in slow-motion on Xbox Live

the process is seen in slow-motion because the horror reaches up from a deep well

and because the residents of the nursing home as a rule see everything in slow-motion

THE ENTREPRENEUR'S website implores me to find a large shrub, to wish on a star, and then to summon whatever I want from the shrub

from every shrub I have found so far, the feet of a dead body poked out

I crawl into one of the shrubs and look down:

I am a bug standing on a mirror

the thumb of my therapist, whenever he illustrated how I should squeeze the trigger of the squirt gun, was very charming

I imagined it riddled with thumbtack imprints, from sticking targets to the walls of his office all day

the thumb couldn't crush the reflections of bugs

when he wasn't showing me how to squeeze the trigger, the thumb merely lazed on its belly next to him