45*21

my heart was broken and laughter fell out
it's a laughter that eats children
kind of what Beatrice would say
wood figurines cast giant shadows in small grottoes
it's the kind of death that kills
I might be up in the field splitting wood
or in the grotto with the deep wreath
but after a week of feeling exhausted and achy
high-pressure ventilation blew her up like a balloon
and I landed in rhapsody on your rickety porch
Please don't shoot the piano player. He's my dad.
it would manifest as a slight suction, drop in pressure
Have you been introduced to the swamp shark?
they are like the sound of the past, shifting potholes
the pickles rise below the viscous
I never understood the Joy Of Cooking so much
as reading it backwards from page three-hundred and...
teeth in imperfect symmetry on this card marking this anniversary
of doom and its Italian cowboys all lighting cigarettes
fire off like Gatling guns the smarmy wife snickers behind
in slow sequence of events that wheeze open accordion-style