dropped right into it
dicklab | hijack | pheromone | bastard
jetlag | beebrain
these-words-pulse
on-my-table
like-the
boy-with-boxcutter
and glib as charity to its mark
my scrawls scar screens my fingers
slur some keys
only the inept economy
of input servitude
can save me
and how else can I blank
the tumult of existence
the terror of a smooth world
the universe explained
I can’t believe
any of it
from door to door a thousand carolers
and all I hear of their shrieks is sub
woofer quakes
our lady of lutruwita wakes
her belly’s on fire her time has come
for re re re
generation