by Eric Baus
-- (Excerpt) --
The word moon assembled its intestines inside the king's saliva. The letters cried. The birth of each letter contained one hundred films. The merged nerves dropped to the ground. The arrows were injured by what the speech spread. The microphone was looking for an echo to explain. The picture of the burst tongue offended the crowd. The birth cloud reddened between rains. The city's moan drowned underneath the first growls. The voice atomized the line between the children's clinging hands.
The moan designed a frequency for soothing aching pumas. The bees blended their beliefs. The blurted heap boiled. The tiny mouth of a green bird created a long pause. The lost signal beaconed back.
The mirage nursed its swells. The sky surrounded hawks. The baffled voiceover warped the scene. The sound scored itself in the sky the arrow came from. The cliffs bloomed Atlantic music.
The vibration of the swan demented the snail. The scene of the pigeon crossed with the sickened sleeper's tarp. The city's doctors polished their revolvers. The owl entered a setting that charged the walls with stillness. The room held the cloud in its amplified lungs. The sky told the sheets to snow. The beaks froze.
The octet possessed an abscessed prowess. The octopus incubated inside a hearse. The octet hovered above a horse. The octopus of inverse absence distended. The oxygen unwound. The octopus inched into an hourglass and unfurled. The octaves pitched.
Last updated May 14, 2019