The mindblowing sponge of snowboarder-crotch. A cute floating pumpkin.
Conflating a missing cereal box character and its cozy blog-surface.
Higher. Deteriorating from a tacit RPG into a cocain-fueled FAQ.
In fact, Martians routinely shit in their beautiful, steam-powered sitcoms.
Fan cadavers with money. Peel Skype’s egg-viewpoint.
Everywhere, Jesus dams up in jugs.
Winter-bloodstains, turned to dust on eerie pizza-excerpts; powdered anxiety, defacing the sasquatch-door…
The fishmen and the fishwomen won’t weaponize weed today. With a silly computer.
In fables, a boozy Friday the 13th is a metaphorical bad hair day for bad white males.
Uh, the galaxy’s at the barber –
Astringents drip into galaxy-follicles … a new, bald white whale!
Screams. Squeezed-star pus.
Lab-grown Lego as alternate KFC.
As an outlet for hatred, RoboCop Wilhelm-screams, in general.
Christmas-lasers maul a family at the mall, in particular. 
The shape hiding amid cuddling clowns
does not exist, only the molecules
worded into agony
The specter of the victim caterpillars up its own skeleton’s ass
Ingredients baking in a hot dinosaur-pile
Sexts toughened by the gang-life of metaphor
Nipples twitching from ingesting the narrative
Watching nachos through that low-res gasoline, baby
Sooooooo much uncomfortable code
As the Marvel goat chews a large placebo made of horseshit,
fangirls breathe in its underground personal space through the cereal-scape
Forks balloon like birds, like blood, in a bizarre pinball aftermath
Dangerous fly-pixels haunt James Franco’s shit-canvas
Skin, metal, me –
An afflicted firefly lounging on digital furniture
The mesmerizing neighborhood curse foreshadowed by NASA’s old psychic slime
White mice that turn everything into triangles grab my ADHD
In the dilapidated dawn, crocodiles poop hard green cookies
I awaken from overdose 
An onboard throat controls the Muppets.
Alien jungles sewn together behind sharp little teeth
with electronic cigarette butts fluff up every jet of fake breath.
Your browser jerk-scrolls its darker side’s dick.
Urban wrestling frayed my exo-dinosaur into its component algae.
The mass of the fast-food thrown at the toilet
corresponds to the mass of 3-D printed Zen.
REM cake-flies jazz up the town’s sleep paralysis.
Surgical bloodstains pack a giant GIF
but aesthetically suffer from the occult glare.
What was merely thought to be Cinderella crying in a dumpster
turned out actually to be the Third Reich forging apps
from exploded urine in a jar. I now have an app for
a void shaped like the Exorcist’s reflective horse.
Woolly needs perpetuate Bitcoins on chaotic pimp paper.
The space photos astronomers like to show us are cries for help. 


Wow, this author writes about life-size trash. 
Some of it comprises the tail of a comet.
Check out the stain’s flattened pearl;
turtle-oil operatically launched by
the clockwork’s orange sock;
body parts covered in the dew
of a surreal multiverse, etc.
Although because of generic murder-acts,
hot polymers crackle at the cores of 
a billion free e-books,
this stem cell impaler is Tron 
all lizard-frontal again,
a radioactive pauper popping 
enemas throughout SimCity
with the decaying cucumbers
of a BMX:
t-shirts underground 
lift in the wind:
a bloodied pickax signals forgiveness 
of the apocalyptic sea 
monster’s gland.

Anonyme, George Grosz portant le masque de la mort (George Grosz wearing a death mask), 1919-1920, photographie


Anonyme, George Grosz portant le masque de la mort (George Grosz wearing a death mask), 1919-1920, photographie

(via trashymommarocks)