you confide in materialism
with disgust, loathing
"shitenmerde, mercy, mercy, merc
...therefore go not i"
fragmented DNA strands
like corn rising in lard.
"that'll be a lil bit tougher,"
like biting through
saddles of cow hide, plasticine
boys balanced in crisp
reds and blues, checkered scarves.
the pink curve of baby cheeks,
fat jowls ready for barbeque sauce.
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