A Language Plague

A virus infiltrates the collective
memory of civilization and eats
away the alphabet, starting
with A, B, and C. Word delivery
resumes smoothly, then the enemy
digests D, E, F. Thoughts whirl
sloppily. Thy goblin swills upon
G, H, I joyously to more, J, K, L;
summons M, N, O; puts up P, Q, R;
wut? S, T, U…; V, W, X…; Y, Z.

Gnaw, Seize, Surplus, Clone, More

She cultivates a farm of belongings; stores more into her
cheeks; rummages shelves for the additional; exposes
vampiric fangs; seizes the judge’s hammer; sails a pirate’s
ship; grows a stronger hand; builds a storage unit over
a monument; exploits the copy button; snipes the auction;
double-parks; unearths the neighbor’s acorns; outsources
to a counterfeit; grows a stickier tongue; attaches more
strings; steals the bed sheets; circles above the carcass;
turns the soup kitchen into a wine tasting, prays for more;
blackmails the doctor; doubles the interest rate; sews
a larger claiming flag; snips a public rose; cuts off the fire
truck; swallows a turtle egg; exhausts the microphone;
enshrines the mirror; barb wires the fence; trophy hunts
the uneatable; bribes the referee; flaunts the black baton;
wagers the donations; weaves a boundless web; devours
the male; pollutes the air with scorns; harvests the reserves;
adds to the clutter; adds to the repertoire; and asks for more.

Fine Print

That shampoo bottle, again, with its warning:

Hair loss.

First that, then a hair-contaminated floor, a hair-
ball-suffocated pet Skittles, a circle of salivating
vultures, a slip of the buck-shot finger, a doctor’s
debris-removal (and his night terror of bills), a re-
call to matrimony, an empty space on a two-seat
carnival ride, a sword-swallower’s rape-stare,
a doctor’s fetus-removal, a vengeful Poltergeist,
a thrill-kill possession, a judge’s call for the chair,
a revoked admission to Heaven’s Gate, a revisit
to that shampoo bottle, again, with its warning:

Hair loss.

First that, then…

Earth’s Non-Spin

Baby carriage wheels never spin, no, no-thing, nor like
a gear of a clock, nor baboon.

“Goo goo gah gah….” The word of God. Jehovah
is Lucifer. You are you. You are me. (Here, plagiarize.)
Entirety, all, whole, ten out of ten, completely, at once,…
nil, zero, non-, un-,….

(Here, plagiarize.) “A mother in Dallas is one of several
parents complaining about a new interactive book
for toddlers in which Sesame Street character Elmo
asks ‘who wants to die?'[…]” Here, now, at this time,
present, without further adieu,….

Now the wheels are puberty, then law-abiding mothers,
tires, non-spinners, nor rattlesnake. Frightening!
Spider, bumblebee, giraffe, horseshoe, gopher-beaver
elephant, toaster oven. These non-spin. Spin, spin, spin,
spin. No.

Sweat, sweat, sweat, sweat (into a half-aged non-spin).
Her steering wheels never spin, nor steer; fingers non-
steer, non-non. We loved feeling that grease in between
our fingers. Fat, fat and fat, progressive fat, buildup fat,
good for the non-spin fat.

“Thank you so much for the slippers.” The meaning
of life. / The meaning of non-spin. A blank. “Who
do you think you are?”

“Are.”

Ambulance wheel non-spins, and hearse, non-spin. You,
me, a consequently, regardlessly, instantaneously, non-spin.

“Do you want the pepper jack tombstone or the monetary
cheddar one?”

O’ Dandelions

Outside Popeye’s, a pimped out Chicken Man held
a black or white? sign with his beak. From the take-out
window popped out Shaniqua with her pricing: “29.99
to feed me olives, 39.99 fo’ carrots, ‘n 149.99 fo’
Hasselhoff’s discarded gum.”

“Home, I’m honey,” announced Bret, placing his coat-
rack on the coat. At bedtime, she brought out her best
pees. When morning arrived, she cracked the kids’ heads
open into the pan, and Bret tightened his favorite tie
against her neck, strangling her.

At the company, they surprise him. They throw confetti ‘n
death certificates for a surprise deathday party. At recess,
he openned his present to find his boss with a Japanese
lollita outfit inside and a ball-gagged staff preparing Super
Soakers. Everyone climaxed then resumed to work.

The boss’s after party started slow with several
unpopped bubble wrap sheets in the fridge, and Martha
Stewart invited guest Daikichi Amano onto the show
where she devoured him and resumed blabbering: “‘1000
earthworms’ [is] an old saying that describes the sensation
inside a rare type of vagina […]. [The] caesar salad
[costume] […] maybe […] originated […] [from] a horny
fisherman who decided to rub fishing bait on his [censored]!
Earthworms are said to swell a [censored] […] but Caesar
Salad Baby […] wanted to be a pie. […] All these beautiful
costumes are […] stuffed inside […] a vagina, being snow-
balled and coiled around […].” The party got bouncing when
the buckets of Crispin Glover’s coffee cup residuals came
in for the chippendales to dip on.

(…) Coat, I’m home,” announced Bret, placing his dead wife
on the coat rack. At pee time, he brought out his best bed.