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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Latch

Prove your identity
Don’t? then make dead ends meet
Stampedes of stamps bleed
Reverse your entry steed
6 feet deep lede
With no talk of walkbacks
You can see the whole sentence recede
No easy feat
As half of halved lives turn to debris
Certainly the country is free
The prosper machine runs while it bleeds
Foots crushed with speed
Winds rise from antecedent centipedes
A glass box turned back to rare earth peat
Ionizing radiation required to unlock phone securely

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

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

Annul

Haha wow, how did that get there
And that too just as I was about to leave
Also, the door opened agape
Just as I was ready to scale the skeleton frame
Oh, my hands?
They just have a natural scent of baggage
No need to inspect the fingers-stub-palm red
Or the cement scars nailpolished with primer coats
The lock which has the logo of my willing face on it
The no-walls chic look
Please just let me be
The founder of my own gold bars
The conceptual walls of which
Compress me into comfort
Beyond my own material self
Smothered with the comfort
That only the soul will know escape

Beaker

Build the world with a few spare tunnels
Milled, sheared to bear eddies of credit funneled
Secrete concrete on streets, dung jets heartbeat
Flogged trees, sorry, too late now to stop bleeds
Metal shutters strut together, cut ribbon to gutters
Cylinders to fill in dirt, burial fit for fuckers
Ration the poison, foist upon those remaining buoyant
Now that its scientific, flush it down the toilet