The flies gather around my eyes,
The bones I pick up and place between my toes,
As I spit on a turtle's shell,
Chewing on the whale's face,
A bubble bursts on my brain,
I pick up the pace, too slow,
In fact there is nothing,
All there is of everything am I,
My hat is inside my stomach,
Yet there is no sun in my hand,
The rock speaks in tounges,
While my mother puts on her shoes,
The face in the doorknob,
Smiles at me with open teeth,
I stroke the expired kitten,
Hanging from its sagging perch,
I fell through the sink,
And landed in the lake,
The man in the chair told me,
"You're yesterday's foul odor"
Flesh hangs on rangs,
While blood drips on towels,
I pull my hand off,
And swallow it whole,
The faces all laugh at me,
While I take my medicine,
Yet I am their master,
This is the illusory endgame.
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