#2

Spume froth foam which is it. A mouth with gears. A mouth with tiny ankycephalosauruses rubbing around. Hooked, cable-strewn mouth. Drilled mouth. Mouth like a hooded cubicle. A centurion strapped a javelin to his thigh and ordered everybody to squat. A centaur popped the head of a ball boy. Girl impregnated by a swan swaggers like a doom. Bland. Hard-hearted eggnog mixer. Pull your hose off. Bare your hips. Give your lips up.

#4

Wrestling the item down at last, smashing it on the grizzled epicenter with the hilt of his broadsword, Hugo returned to his backlog where Esmina had set an assortement of sponges. The dirt was darker here, revealing the coarseness at the root of the soul. It was while Hugo considered the roots of souls (how strange it felt to have a muscle yanked out!) that the damaged, disemboweled item unhusked a molten thorn and launched it into the factory next door, the place where they programmed girls into wonders of socket and ball. It was this item who would start the insurrection, this single, burned out, hacked up little worm of an item.

#10

Responding to criticism, the shuddering item ticked back and forth metronomically and slowly began to explode, leaving space for a more streamlined, healthier item. A small fire breaks out in a health care facility and an attendant locates the wrong form of extinguisher; thus effectively eliminating an entire laboratory. It’s a new world for the healthier item, a new world for a lot of things. Looking at this morning’s food, Romulus decided he would try and turn certain situations around, such as his identity nuzzled by wolves. Romantic entaglements utilize innocuous formats, don’t they, his thumb said. Returning the food to the container, he noticed an interesting item scurrying around his ankles. It had no stem, no discernible distractors, just a helpless, isolated bit of connective tissue. She felt sorry for it, and knew it would not be replaced, just retired to some shelf. But this it did not want and, scowling, ripped its teeth into the lover’s knee and tore out one of the hinges, the blue, gummy one.

#15

The field croaked. The item tossed its box onto a wildflower and made a clinic for wildflowers. Suspiscion is an over-extension of the brain, the item thought, suppression is a constriction of it. Small things of the field lined up near the box, in need of care and rehabilitation. The item played with a vitamin then smashed it between two stones and blew out the burning dust. The soil under the stones squished into itself, making the trees sigh. The item twisted its corkboard into a soaking rabbit kicking its way towards the plain. There were faces in the peach trees that looked like little girls’ knees. It was going to wrestle, the item; it was going to wrestle the beast.