Procedurally generated crocodile tears

Introducing
A new cop TV show
In a harsh desolate
landscape made entirely
of cop shows
Our main character
Artifice Shrapnel
Is a sapient gun
Making hard choices
Such as:
which person to kill more,
what’s the respectable
dosage of lust
toward nation,
feeling vindictive remorse
via temporary
sadfeel© neuron tattoos
only when
another guncop dies,
and so on
And so on

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Hard sell/Hard pass

We are approaching
Realms of ether
With unjust speed
Tetherless arrows
Responses recalled
Via previous responses
To the original
Which was lost
To faulty ignition

Behold!
More actionable metrics
For spawning
More actionable metrics
Harvested ethically
From skin voltage
Of consenting blastomeres
So there is an alibi
For cheese flavoured rope caulk

Cyst brewed concoction

A writhing lizard’s tail
Dancing to the tune
Of melodies made
By instruments used
To sever it
A rhythm which I just imagine
While someone else
Strings it together

The sound of the apple bite
Overlaid on the ovoid panflute signature
A character saying the word “issue”
Stressing the S into an aristocratic snake’s hiss
On a glistening green countryside matte painting
But standing on top rather than before it
As if only the players have switched
But the posture remains constant

Cello strings and hand saw
Roadrunner CEO of Acme
A throne with each peg
Deep in slit necks
Of bodies offered comfort unbeknownst
Rocks worn smooth with lymph
Watch your step
Might end up being heir of the throne

Sickly sweet smelling acid screwdriver
The medium of poison rain to paint upon
With dense millimeters of supercooled pigments
Longing for contact of a cold simmer
The hisses will be stored and repurposed
For the strung up throat lips mouthing notes
So that even when the scene is canvassed by inquisitors
We can laugh at them for falling for it

Bespoke fabrication

Stoop so low it’d make your head dirt
Face palms or for tread worse, hearse
Occult curses, recursive structures curt
Cultured furtive inserts of spur hurts

Bow so hard it’d make your spine clump
Head bumps or dumped hair bunched on eardrum
Hear some, pump turns of strung strums to visible spectrum
Speck crumbs hum, become one, burn, dump, bulk angstroms

Reach so high it’d make all things the same as each other
Gluons decay, stutter so all that’s solid melts into smoky butter
Turn into your father, mother, fraternity of oath fuckers, a sucker for suffer
Buffer of stuffed matter unstucker, flutter of luck, muck flatterer, skin slurry shit stirrer

Time to spare

Simmering lakes of organ grinder runoff
Mixed with a pinch of slake lime effluent
Chemically chargrilled using mutagen centrifuge
Ethically sourced electric brain stimulation reduction
Suggested garnish: fresh scoffs from blood rentier’s pursestrings
As I wake from my death, vampire-like, proxy dead labour
I see three fans spinning in different orientations along axes
Hey, at least they have jobs
While I’m tasked with cataloguing the myriad, devilishly creative ways
With which my brain will extinguish before contracting fatalism

Spectre blot

Leave me alone!
Oh, so you have left me
Now that I have this
All to myself
I am going to embody fairness
Canvas tears will display skies
No more artsy artifice
Just the dawning reality
That forgets to set forever
I own the means now
Of all creation
Whatever you made of me
Still lodged in my head
The protagonist
With shadows of ghost
A chorus of fingerpoints
For all of you to not exist in totality
For me to want solitude
It takes a village

Anchor on oil spill

On the tyre swings under the desiccated trees
Where I first rammed with subterfuge
The lies I told to steal free drinks
Arrows fused with lumbar sections
Spread like exposed rebar fanning
Drinks mix with concrete & spinal fluid
As I bend down to pick up the pieces
And there is no way back to grace