Burning Cattle
out of the hotwired many
I am just one
one dashboard
bashed against its own teeth
by your pretty car crash
and the uniquely enamel’d habit
you have of misplacing your car keys
the cup cake goes: frosting
formerly trusting bone torn away
from the sexy flesh of your
reverse engineered scarecrow philosophy
my silo pronounced ‘solo’
your barn door pronounced
“I’m in love with someone else”
the nose goes: snort
bonfires of charred flesh
splash around in your wake
like 34th century bread crumbs
leading the way back to
your late night TV commercials
for Restless Crotch Syndrome
which eerily predate the 118th unnecessary remake
of Red Dawn
put that in your sarcophagus and smoke it
you never appreciated Boris Karloff
like I appreciated Boris Karloff
The cow goes: moo
Multiverse Johnson 