your pulsing faucet numbs

an excrement mannequin collapses

next a podium maze its maggots

swarm and flee muddy down a

street elongation toward a

smirking doll propped up contra

in a teetering glass box be lie fs

be gon polyethelene foaming out its

face and finished knowing rotted skin

the bearers grunt and moan inflated

giggling as they struggle keep the

vertiginous box upright digestive

rain and thunder gather at the end

of the street

Spattered with gobbets from

“Sound Ritual Number 84” by

bill beamer & Jim Leftwich