the monster is neon tetra and noun appreciative
as to advances of slash edit redact
upon heap where limbs burn as they should with subsidized diesel
from noggin' casings too fraught with freight,
finger placings somehow always late on fretted brows
making jazzy out of temperamental pain
-tings that kid'n gardeners call art
spelling the seeds with hexes, making secession suck cesspool
not because ore wants to be gone
but because the filling station is never serf serve
round here the monster is square
looking you in both ayes, your conditional and overly mouthed assent
that rulers take the measure of how to angle their castings
so that theater not be stymied by worm riots
under expensive poultices on insubstantial solstices where lots of blood
always was spilled on formica
to cover the reflection's power to turn one to stone
no one will read the tooth
no two may lie under lain paths without a leash on life that wraps the cosmos
about the balls with dialectic precision
enhanced with monstrous marketing making seemly virtues palatable
for the fangfaced denizens and their burpy cuspids with arrows
prowling for jarhackers and carmackers and tarpackers, leaving
the crosses of home in the guttural safety of sheafdom
where cowardice rolls no dice for flee
up the heel a flock of geesebump
s hamstring Achilles and turn hamlet to liquid quitter
frozen in tracks of tourment
a thousand darts with suckercups on the fake fur forehead
a joke in the headlights with punchlines over the collared nape
a monster less ready to eat
than to poke with a teen foot pole that is melting the polar swears habitat
bye bye making swimmers of the fiercest as a yard of ice
looks good when hunted by bad dreams
in the full moon shuttering of eyelids
too indebted to ply evermore
