"I used to
plant sesame seeds thinking that a bagel tree would grow."
Aperture taint breathing drool at the fork. Imitation leather organs yawn. Art-damaged bleeding edge-whores sleep above their childhood toys, curated under the box springs as if posing for a police line-up or magazine shoot. Eternal purge spawning garbage.
Stomach acid piss cleaves the ichor from its braid. Blood-matted Saint Bernard configured to a ram. A life’s work undone by a nose bleed.
Running down the lung-dividing crease in her back was a glyphic ream that looked like a crooked letter N positioned in the crosshairs of a nearsighted assassin with a severe tilt to their neck. She looks over her shoulder, pupils darting forward through the stranded drapery of her bangs, her pleading need back-masked under a hungrily warm, knowingly sly grin. A face I find beyond refreshing… especially when contrasted against the cross-eyed lolling tongue mongoloid goon face that others her age have been conditioned to employ by the lowest hanging rungs of modern amateur pornography.
Fibrous spores blooming on chicken wire. Achilles’ meat served on microwaveable life casts. There’s nothing but the warmth a backfire provides.
Vultures of charcoal in a sulfuric haze. Hockey skull welding helmet vapor-hailed through its snout. Paper-mach with eight-millimeter film stock. An octopus with a panda head of abattoir surplus.
Machine gun feathering. A China doll hemorrhaging crabs from behind the red of its eye plate.
Skirt of beaks drinking wetness off the eyes. Hurried on my way by their caprices.
Scissors grind the fountainous neck. Orgiastic silhouettes misting off the lye.
The progressive displacement of wind from the ground regurgitates a floral arrangement of uterine dilators. Throttle pipe work to steam the plastic hood. Fetus tied to a stack of cassettes by a choker of knotted sandwich bags.
Satchel with a drawstring. Body of child placed in drawstring satchel. Satchel filled with the body of a child swung by its drawstring, repeatedly smashed against stacked planks of balsa wood. Body of child in splinter-dusted drawstring satchel resembles a deflated parade float that’s crunchy to the touch from having been partially filled with surplus Epson salt.
Public restroom glyphs in a ladder down their fatty spine. Double edge razor blades in a mobile of hairpins. Bolt cutter dentures frayed nerves motorized to emit the cage-reek of grinding paper mills.
Picturesque harangue dislodged calf mill bloat. Rimming grit from orbital gloss. Teardrop cheekbones pierce the eye in the lemon-squirt flex of a deep blink.
Glowering croc jaw of petrified rat brains. Quelling fortitude with assurance in reverse.
Accommodate this seething until the lead unravels to season puke with the ducts’ spare tang and all the alienation of childless adults.
Tonsils submerged in a liquid window.
A fetal seizure in pink slime.
"I’ll fuck your whole world like a fisted pig."
N. Casio Poe has appeared in the AGON Journal and Hyper-Annotation. His Cringe Mythos cycle is available through Sweat Drenched Press.
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