Homerian Kiss

From the prophet's 12 story-high speaker stack comes the word Hello.

Wooting Dengue Dengue at a baby's photo op.

4chan suction circles on the plastic coffin grow a titty –

tweaking the Hawaiian shirt to extrapolate gangsta-goulash

          like the Grim Reaper dragged through

          pores of Getty images.

A vegetative NATO moonshot by the Freudian uvula in

          a caveman's violin

          approaches Mongolia.

Swiss-cheesed by the complex

coiling steam of X-rays

electro-blushing in ice-blood

          in a commercial.

Some invigorating recycling via horny lapses

          into spiritual horsehead.

Acclimating to a piece of shit under one's skin –

towers of darkly marching isolation absorbed by saliva,

palindromes splitting fantasy novels into otter-formations.

Aerial violence fishes everywhere,

          depleting the beetlejuice of the everywhere like

the orphan colonies permeated by Homer's kisses. 

EXIT

The tattoo on Fred's abscess eases the pressure within. Like kittens, knees jailed, crawling inky over parking lot veins. Super-smut tapers below the resurrected grid with the sensitivity of pearls in a layer of boring Bing. Explodes into condensed e-vomit, ugly. Knowing that 911 is an app, knowing that it is a contraption that is not good to use near trees. Insomniacs vape more vapaciously than anyone else, apparently. Maybe they're addicted to Earth-fucking. Clowns are, as they say, clones: they let us slip on their tentacles at carnivals. Their testicles. Stabbed snowflakes curdle then disappear, like. As I was saying the toilet does not at first fully obscure the Lamb – meta-crustaceans in the keyhole decapitate peeping toms by sucking all the calories out of their eyes. This is called annihilation by means of a dramatic EXIT of swallowed lice. The digital ghost was a mango, not Harvey Keitel. Frying in an astronaut's science-warm pan, bashing a metropolis. Godzilla, not Pinocchio, was a child actor who never knew the joy of playing with the trippy jelly of their own pulp/poop. 

Lego Rape

brain imaging a bag of dicks

when seamless becomes psychedelic 

a turnstile with long arms and a short body

one's hair, during teleportation, from turbulence

reconciled with hurtful Mars attacks in pizza delivery

mythical expletives rapped via chainsaw

gore triggered by D&D vagina

the Chernobyl beast's pungent arousal

jagged gravity, which the invaders feast on

electricity is a dirt trap

her autopsy, imaginary

teenage vampire merman 

his ant eyes, discharge

guts picked swirling in ocean cartilage

arrhythmia at the center of a balloon

parallel to the tasteless adder

tiny mouth, like a beige rim of dental plaque

when rats rape Lego

their orgasms are deposited on remote Uranus

Satan freezes them first 

The Wizard

Nougat, but the ossified kind. Like white noise creeping,

but tangible. Raccoons turned to pulp, then reanimated in God's

cartoon hands. Their crimes embedded in the clown particle of fear-feces

that shrouds a continent. An old cathedral full of groaning senile thin zombie aliens

covered in pigeon droppings. Segways wormed awry into

gutter-simulations by SkyNet in “extruder mode,” robot lung

affected by wheelchair wind. Flappy tasered squid, flowers wedged

between cheeks. The wizard's proboscis homes in;

the heart symbol between bearded breasts, on a chain. Obscure.

“I would really like the cowgirl treatment, please.”

In a gross dream about the woods - or woods in general – I had squeezed 

the wizard's balls; the BBQ slapstick had been haunted (reassuringly) by

an Amazon drone, theatrical. In the Louvre hangs a painting the size of an ice rink

riddled (fittingly) with 8-bit weather. Lava separating from the flayed

mug of SpongeBob “SkullCramp” SquarePants, like paint, running.

A person standing at the side of the road disappears. Sucked off

by the wizard.

Diarrhea Derp

For MySpace barnacled up,

The psychic hole lidded by an earwax peace sign,

A boil stitched LSD shaded.

An organ donor's newly empty galaxy downloads

Christmas plasma, secretes monster GIFs

overnight, spitefully sexy.

Nurturing a popcorn skeleton.

passions chemically tie my sneakers

canaries dislocated by

a smuggler's asshole

The dark derp of preserved weasel.

Of dinner crashing flexing into knives.

Valentine's Poem IV

Strangling tele-puke with a Telecaster

is exactly like draining a glove. I mean, why shoot, thanks.

Popped bloodstreams, repeating indigoid.

Numerous quit, helped fast far over

dangerous head smells outside around

next along. Too close together, welcoming &

chiming on my space chair.

Whale song that tells me

what the television is doing

breaks, like a witch blanking the beefiest frog.

Indeed, willing, optional fan art, on the floor,

mashed fountains, difficult in the dark.

Accessed viscera quirk crocodilian quack,

bludgeoned to trash tripedal-tailed.

Manga Smithers enters green void:

driving like an idiot. Distortion pedal to

the metal. The lattermost email tool alternates

between goatish and fancy nonsense

attached to the ejector seat

attached to orchids that choke e.g. a condom.

The NSA's Dong

Awkward tears sneezed through a small slug grommet, hell yeah.

A stretchable pacemaker erupting into gross robotics, soft horror.

I'm where surplus heads dock the egg of amputee-pliable heroin.

Drugs are bad for you. So here, huddled cryptids scrape a deceased loved one's

feces into bundled smileys, fattening the NSA's dong on sonic ribbons, 

insinuations, faces, Sonic the Hedgehog, a gobbled-up dinosaur infographic's 

subplot: i.e. “Gandhi is global-warming lethal Coke into a brake fluid screensaver

a-la happy winking selfie!” Or: “My bike's dimming, yuh, yelling, thirsty.”

“Coal's origami nipple disturbed by our fucked up cheap little magnet

and the vagrant asymmetrical shart of its noise-figure.” “Alright sorry, bye.”