What’s so slasher flick about
expressing in small pox ellipses?
I siphon train fuel for its ventures—
in slick, esophagus tastes
travel additives and
language minus language.
My pauses are collaborative with
your phoneme and morpheme hips—
phrasing bits and
grows fuzzy vowel arms,
moist syllable legs and
words become crunchy on my ceiling and
flake off into my mouth where
end sentences are