Working As a Demolition Personnel

Chee Chops,
I love your mother,
because she comes
in a transparent green
vinyl cube
with a good quality
metal zipper.

Chee Chops,
Your mother is elastic,
and her cheeks
are telescopic handlebars
which flow into the world,
nono baby no take draino.

Chee Chops,
The Red Oracle
is at the heart of all
surfaces, Chiops,
my game-boy organs
taste video canopic
jar-heads whistle,
Chee chops, your
mother is the wisdom
of Sweet Ying-a-Ling's
Yang Lang Key Doodle.

Chee Chops,
if a 3 ton cheese jaw
is fitted to a mammoth
head-cheese skull
in a baroque refridgerated
gallery of weirdly scalloped
columnar shelving installations,
let tiny thermal suited mice
savage the jaw
as a contemporary analogue
of the picaresque you call
miniaturesque

And Chee Chops,
please do not bring
Gender into our Arts any more
because seeing this Peterbilt
Engine Hogon with Breasticles
is upsetting the hydra-pirate
recordings when they oop-slice
their genetic dream feedback
principle for trans-parsec
mafia encoding.

Chee Chops,
Let your Gender
be white noise, or
Tonka Gradient Flavors
moving slow motion
inside the relativity diorama
on the light-speed matter
cannon's ruined poem surface.

Chee Chops,
Do you like that stanky
abandoned house smell?

Me Neither.