Saint Torpedo

2 Nov

Pilot yourself towards hell-kite
with this thyroprotein fix,
and the thrum of
horselaughter.

Firing missiles of playful
melasma while watching
breaking
teashop glass
jugglers in one of
the rings of this
circus home.

Painless and uncommitted
like Heracles giving lifeblood
to a gigantic clon slamming
dread- everything- all of this!

All of this reanimated
mustering, and me with an
explosive brainstorm breach.

Chaotically and nevermore
from Heaven comes-
Saint Torpedo-
with his shiny joy of
coolness- a cold
sloganeer- and with his
shiny glow he heals
with power holy
graceful
and greening.

The station master said,
“I died that’s all,”
when I saw him down at
the station waving
the flags and
crying out
loud, I know the feeling,
that’s all, and I say a
prayer to Saint Torpedo-
before things get out
of hand.

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