Thoughts of a One-Day Counselor at Flax Pond Leeches sitting on bleachers
dying
until they suck my livelihood out of my nipples
and then life ripples through their segmented body
moving them to jump up and down upon grassy moldy
stumps until the candy man comes round again to give them cavity checks making sure they are fit enough to survive and produce colonies upon colonies of segmented worms who, due to evolutionary advance, do not have to taste their own shit,
he feeds them schwag weed that their eyes stain of shattered red glass
and potent birdseed that they develop beaks and they reek havoc on unsuspecting asses
parasitically sucking shit and depriving the toilet bowl of necessary nutrition,
and so the toilet bowl becomes very ornery and ready to rise up against the tyranny and oppression of it sitter in its state of starvation
and when at times the human host does relieve himself of that waste which has not been devoured the toilet seat snaps at itchy genitals like a crocodile or a turtle a snake a sea lion hell even a perversely red-rumped baboon who hoots and howls amongst rainforest trees devastated by teeth of chainsaws wielded by Neanderthals with oversized jawbones, egos, and phalluses
the pawns in the game of CEO’s who feast on pork and toenails of pigs’ feet until their scrotum pops;
the robots who serve computer matrices of digit after binary digit,
who do not input information but rather put in their stiff metal cocks that always stay hard like a goddamned Valentino stallion of a porn star,
tearing apart the floppy disc drive like the perfect sexual servants they are to the masters of the free capitalist world of piss,
the omniscient faultless computers who have evolved a step further than bacteria who reproduce by means of binary fission;
computers are a fusion of binary codes
odes to Spacemen 3 walls of sound that fuse fuse and cruise to a higher segment in the ladder of enlightenment with every second and prick at your cerebral cortex like a porcupine quill will,
and ram your brain into its proper place like moose antlers ram curious jetset tourists or like Old McDonald has a ram ram here and a’ rams it in there like Dr. Benway lives to ram,
to control; raping with his deteriorating pole
which stands erect at strict attention even after all the years of wear and tear
and passive-aggressively rams into constituents wearing neckties of noose and brainwashed by addiction to being controlled,
and he bees in control, participating in the orgasmic symbiosis of sex,
the mutualism of S&M,
submitting to dual addictions of his very own,
killing two birds with one stone and young Interzone altar boys too who give primal ejaculatory screams, bursting from the noose chokehold, bursting from death as he detachedly shoves himself into their brains and asshole.