Brain Beetles

My thoughts are cross dressers

drinking five dollar bottles of wine

while performing a maladroit square dance

in a moon bounce. When they ricochet into speech

they make no more sense than acid tubas,

but sound just as lovely. Pretty little fools that they are,

they apply too much glitter and lopsided lashes

to look more like basic babes. I’d like to eat them

like pulp fiction candy, but that craving is biological.

They are my own organic mucous taffy.

To the average consumer they’re probably

comparable to  those suckers encased with crickets

and scorpions. I can’t really think of any other product

that is all at once so unappealing, intriguing,

sugary, creepy, and comical. See what I mean now?

My thoughts are so absurd they think they are

creepy-crawly lollipops.

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