A large head bit into the hardware. The head choked up smoke and metal. The head groaned for three minutes, before knocking over the pail on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator.
No longer in service, the head’s mouth was frozen agape, providing an opportunity to roll out the engine-greased bolt threads, a task carried out by an all-thumbed left hand in latex.
In limbo, the head loosened up its formal wear. Tooth showered; eye replicated; a bristle shadowed; cochlea dreamed of rock excess - a saw on a six-string.
On limbo’s landscape, the rolling hills rotated like rolling pins. After a few turnovers, a stage appeared. It moved closer by the milliseconds, milliseconds that groaned for minutes on end. On the stage’s hardwood, a six-string spun in a gyroscope, coupled with a saw. Here it was: the cochlea’s dream made electric flesh. Excess, nausea, confusion, and bliss. An “Inbetween” state, laid out on the back of a dead battery, imagining psychically-activated cloudbursts.
• Sweat Tongue: http://sweattongue.hotglue.me
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