My hands in the autoclave
It is no disaster
No mistake
Complete sterilization
Not quite yet cremation
Free of my predation
I crawl through a cavernous cave
Its wet walls perspiring
Nooks like glands
Gulleted by the monster
Steep feet without falter
Skull space I foster
I lay in a shallow grave
No need for depth
In this loamy cradle
No longer death I seek
But whatever keeps me weak
Hyphae drink the fluid I leak
Protected; not me, but you
Dissected; they bore me through
An ending to my disgrace
Put me in my place
i took the litany of your diagnosis
on the groove of my tongue
down on my knees, I welcomed your terminological dominion
over my awfully sullied canvas
i closed my eyes, submitting myself to your word’s sterilization
frosting over my elasticity until I’m exactly what you want
am I what you want me to be yet?
will I ever be enough for the words on your page?
my wrists tear against the bloody shackles
your covenant exacts its price against my emotional crimes
the miscommunicated ex-communication of my mercurial being
leaves my mind high and dry, higher and dryer
i’m a zombie to your cure
infected by your frame of thought
FIX ME
TO THE FLOORS OF YOUR BUREAUCRATIC APATHY
AS I SLOWLY BUT SURELY
DIE
IN YOUR ARMS
NOT COMFORTABLY
BUT NONETHELESS
in your arms.
…
So, what would YOU do for a Klondike Bar?
we sailed to the island, the island, the island
and would stay there evermore
with nothing to read but coconuts
and cocoa berries upon the tree
with no barber, Dennis or lawman
things could ghetto might strange
but we handle a leader (let's call him trumper)
trumper stood higher, and gave a screech
about a returnstile trip to sterilization
we stood up and jeered, Hooray, Hooray
but we be stripwrecked, cousin trumper, said we
what chance are we out in the farsighted lotion
where even the seagirls far outnumber us?
never minding that, he said we'll build a blue one
and us set about chirping down trees
at lust, the crate was finnish
two by two, we crumb aboard
and set snail for big indenture
to scoot for homely bound
but the beauty took on water
and we invaded to another shore
fierce sausages lined the bleachers
farmed with spearmints gone galore
we said our players, it looked like pretend
but the sausages made our breakfast friends!
brer trumper aligned a trick or treaty
the crew lived on believing children for eleventy years
Last flickers of a dying flame still burn
I strain to see every bitter remembrance
lain before my feet
pain stained mendacious propaganda
blackened and singed upon my soul
words have risen and taken toll
right or not, secrets have been sold
out of mind into the hands of masses
such asses, cutting out the tongues of old
forcible suppression unfurled
into self-made sterilization
white sheets billowing in the wind
masking an unpure infantile soiling of intellect
sociopathic manipulation
senseless stripping down of the senses
we're utterly defenseless
gather round as smoke heaves
and smothers imperious will and wit
free thinking dies as another chapter
cries out and is carried
to an unmarked grave
Any result will be an unsuccessful grapple.
Nobody can make a gelatin mold with fresh pineapple.
If there are any attempts, you are in for a bad time.
This is because the fruit has a proteolytic enzyme.
If this were a game, you would be drawing the wrong card.
Fresh pineapple will never allow the gelatin to get hard.
However, success can be conveniently in hand.
You must use the fruit from the store that is canned.
Yes, this is a fact requiring realization.
The enzyme is denatured by heat sterilization.
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