Urine
clunks “in a bucket” – and the hologram's cardboard cutout
surfacing
outside of
Siri, a cartoon shed awake,
foils the
endeavors of the witch app, with narcolepsy –
for the
Lord's spinal beak bends more to gross candy than to popcorn – “on
a train” – the
ambiguous
optics of a scrambled meme –
food
flavors the K-9 wizard had fucked out of fear's bobbing
electronics
– oil data, multiplied railway dark – the twitching scrotum
and the
bagel body, a Pepsi on its knee:
HP
Lovecraft's marijuana wiener's bagel
body spits
ebola shit
– transmits trench beauty, from God's food truck
through
solar silk – as yet not a tentacle on the e-cigarette's
kill-switch.