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| TELL ME THE TRUE NATURE OF MY REALITY | |
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| a sea of imminent apostrophe misuse filling the cracks in the hourglass, swirling ever outward in a seventy-three degree arc, building your millstone of blood and the bones of useless children | |
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| , all is for naught when you become like the soil, bounding in and out of iceland's gregarious cunt, you snivel and shovel intestines atop piles of instant mashed potatoes, gravy for the licking. | |
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| MY FACE HAS BECOME A MOUNTAINSIDE | |
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