boot shakin’ good sense up in that head,
venom-sheened lips,
and an army of Guinea pigs,
one-punch-two-KO poetry,
oozin’ out in surrealist, multilingual,
monolithic, ‘n oppressively inspirational fashion.
writin’ to wrap your head around and bend it ’til it breaks,
despite my arguments otherwise,
more than worthy of an affair,
if only to grow warm next to such a flame.
