something calls in the fractal spirals that seem to hover just to the side of my vision this kaleidoscopic menagerie filled with delightful half whispers truth in cotton candy wrapped lies

tiny pops from the insatiable bee orgy as the penii explode in a symphony of orgasmic dissention

i once wrote a poem backwards as if counting sheep or bottles of beer on the wall slowly reversing syllabic dysfunction until it was a series of panic stricken groans i projected into the empty vase where flowers once died after being cut and sold to celebrate something that had died long before

cutting dolls out of instruction paper yet never questioning the lack of information in the flurry of scraps and scrapes that left a million papercuts along the interior pulmonary nerve

there is an icepick going at a two hundred and seventeen degree angle through my right tear duct in an array of seismic honey bee bukkake that lights fireworks with every reticent blink

it’s cold and i wish to hold you


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