By Erik Infante
Bug eyes taunt the passenger's dreams, ordinary folk seem pointy and rotten, magenta oil gleaming on their fossils. Tell me a story or take me home, babble on about origins invisible. Conclusions unforseen, engulfed in a mystery of hamburger. Raw and to the point. Maximum loop style and rattling all the way, you hungered for a core of silk and got the spider's falsetto remorse. Unearthly light fixes to his hinges, and I lunge for his viscera to deprive it of balance.
Wooden laughter from the daughter of a Squeech. It shakes my being like God prongs, violet webbing curved inwards with hostility.
"I want that aluminum pronto! And don't forget my blotches. Remember, I'm a dangerous man. Precious garbage from a foreboding mare."
He'd the complexion of a dying star.
Composing a symphony of angelic incisions to lacerate his eyes