your rhino fat scraping rail

pushes     flowers leaves into empty
space through     a lengthy
series of violent transformations     with
raw lively seethe to     the point it’s as
familiar as a pine box by     the bed to
me     when once i would have thought
it some     beautrap microhoax bananas
on bananas     mistaken for self-containment     the
type where I was willing to risk     incoherence all
the while they shrieked     alfred the cakes are
burning      this alignment will only
    cease when     every
green man floral bride     slowly
converges upon a fixed     point of
techno-industrial spread &     leads
the broken limp version
of you to some cloud
soft other
place