A bird call rang from the black ice beer can
its tone glittered roughly somewhere between that of a dying cat and an orgasming infant
as the jungle canopy of aluminum ran from the ceiling in fear of the quicksand healing
a cascading cacophony of vocalized hollering drew over the crashing cans
loud enough to be the plummeting's soundtrack
alone isolating the visual from the audio and leaving no linkage to absorb
flatten my defecation and I lost amazon reason to believe the bending screen
the blending means pull hard
and wrench from my bass a concrete tiger
eyes slight as bamboo and dilated as television
wrists clatter ladder and the monument
once again is whole my stomach full
katana slit and shard belly buttons blue prints
now cut a fucking hole in me
and let the raw meat bloom and crawl and stink
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