My hands dash to restrain
that unprovoked laughter from bashing
what corpse of sanity
yet manages to dangle from that heavy thing
refusing to abandon its seat
between those glorified holes
just behind the reprimanding reach of each eye.
Unfortunately enough for my hands,
the desperation that enthused their motion
beyond conservation or halt,
actually thrust their delicate physiques into those
32 cow-excrement-enhanced rocks,
self-appointed to guard any vomit
that manages to bolster enough insolence as to
declare itself worthy to spew itself onto an audience;
such self-righteous radicals
including, apparently, laughter.
So now what to do
with bloodied fingers
and the seductive taste immune
to the best-greased floss influence could buy,
smeared so generously onto that
slimy thirst secreted behind those ivory guards?
Oh, it’s alright! No worries…
The desire for that liquid rust
has surpassed that bout of laughter
which had been the instigator
of that domino effect, anyways.
And as long as that insanity
has forgotten to taunt that weakening grip
dangling from that yet pulsing, heavy thing,
I shan’t be so fickle
as to forbid a thirsty newborn its
life sustaining milk.