Sunday, April 26, 2009

I have fallen into the Niagara Sound of Snot

I cannot tell which side of you is upside. I put the upside down
I request you to put your happy things back
In their original drawstring restrained place locators
And get into the waiting
Exuberant fishhook that has come to fetch us
On a string, I’m exciting
The waiting sensation in you and you have glowed red
For too long I wonder about overheating
When you arrive the space between us will decrease and your heart
I am into the gassy heart refueling
Will be even with the place my heart used to be
Now I am required to have surgery and implant nozzles
When I was younger and hadn’t grown
Life without a fill station was embarrassing, it was like
You didn’t live on a point between anyone
I would not grow in your presence
I didn’t dare turn myself inside out
Seeking what Buddhists call “drought”
I had fallen into the Niagara Sound of Snot
A rifle spigot of snot shot
Discriminating and found a tissue target
In a big fat hurry with loud sneakers
A flotsam in my palm turned on
And the harmony in my alphabetizing quaked
My micro-managing spam damaging film noir cheetoes hands
Bust soaking to the silvery nads with rich snot
A glowering through a lens of this texture slips
And later found a town in a beard without the proper septic hookups
Getting to create and meet people
Created by town fathers and mothers who don’t give a lick
About what waterfalls urban outfitters sew flowing down
A sound made when two people snore
Their eyes locking with odors in enclosed room and their toes rub
And when the rub vanishes there are flu symptoms

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