Ramblings on a Broken Typewriter #2

turgid ink tossed in a bonfire
of cinnamon delights
caressing crescents
memorized into steak-shaped nuggets
of crispy chicken crisps

only the notion of Barbie
sustains their hopeless
puny dreams of sausage

heaven and hell meet
but are never conquered
by an absurdist play by Andre Breton
or a flaming nostril
expelling Mexicans through its hiatus

blue dawn threw nothingness into the void
but only Captain America
can ride the waves of anthrax narcolepsy
to attain the pure bliss that is Kurt Cobain

plated sheets of pyramids
are the price for admittance into heaven
but Yahweh will also accept MasterCard

stretched out is time on the track
seeing visions of pink AK-47s
torturing the sleep
of all the nations of bacon-eaters

through gin made of dying frogs
and the snout of a blue leopard
the craftsman dwells in an ocean of self-pity
and salad dressing

the centenarian groans
with fantastic sausages of fate
while mud-men of an uneasy dawn
callous through the wreckage
of an Albanian goat giving birth
to dove-headed puppies

reaching through a cascade of human-headed lamas
I seek the pleasures of golden oranges
attached to pangs of death
an emerald bliss that washes over me

like a tornado made of cones
plastic in its nature but full of voluptuous hearts
pain unknown anywhere outside of Buddha-hell

the righteous defaults to god
as a cane of sugar beats Kerberos to death
with its sweetness and lack of armario

me duelen las cabezas de yeux de caracara sientanos

for the heaven is a railroad cutting through
infinite heavens in a gore of heavenly heavens
attach a blind to a blind and no one will care

but the restless dawn of scarlet
bacon is a bacon too many to bacon into bacon
I am the bacon soul

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