Edgar Allen Poe @ Starbucks.com

"Scottish JunkiePhones didn't write this."

//

an amoeba takes off its
cartoon cellphone jogging shoes
and lets them float out
across a huge cup of Java:

Ahmed
my neck
my neck
the human neck
is the Alamo.

//

a Bentley Aston
field Martin
[Mr. Aston, Mr. Martin]
fitness instructor
rolls into the highland park
village Starbucks
to absorb a mocha soy
latte' frappé'
with her nipple sponges
where it meets

a Mexican jumping jellybean hotty
in a Hummer with video laser disk turntable wheels
each with its own yardman amoeba vj.

//

a yardman amoeba vijay-jay
invites a homosaxual urban turban
to tuba artificial cream
into its earcanal ecosasstem
while reading the
Hand-Held Times.

then BAMM!
Universal Purrreggancy!
Out pops a nosering cellphone
in wikiwikiwikit ambilogues
hawking the triune thong..

With its flared nostril earlobes blaring
the dun and rietheous pomedy
of the all-cunning javalingua,
the damn guest star's coffee colored thong-lings
outputted more
human neck alamo coffee.

//

A Salvadorian Thong-ling in a
skivvy dong'd four-door Porsche phone
pulled out its iPod tennis nipple paddles
for some Iroc Lacoste retro doodad Funion action
from Atari Safari.

//

Funny Doodoo for Sanka Claws!
Calvin Klein Bottle!

Do a math problem bfor
beta clown shoes comes on down here
like a donkey in a Chanel
crawdad exoskeleton
codin' wiki's in an alt-latte' shower's
Bath party house.

Hyle So Damn Insane!
Where's your novel, dum dum?

He gots TWO NOVELS!
two tiny laptop nipplerings
and they are boyfriend
and boyfriend:

T.D BMW Macaroni Baudrillard
and
T.S. Mercedes Bachelard
(or will be)

after they quit bein'
eyes on the pony's
rubber buttcheek earcanals
for Santa Coffee Neck is the Alamot.

//

Hassan I Shubboth.

Zelda jacked off in her Americano
and out popped a ringtome.

//

In Napoli, a Byronic nipplephone
is perusing an assembly line of cheap
mass produced fuck-dolls made of
Southeast Asian coffee-sponge phones,
and looking for a mutant with an
earlobe nipplephone browser suite
to include Photoshop, iTunes, and a rare app
for disassembling beetle dongs in an expanded
latte' metaverse.

//

A Mexican Macaroni BMW dollhouse sausage
is perfroing a transcendental denture email to a
colostomy of Azerbaijani hominy when SHALAMA!

39 cellphone mummies pop out of a Cheops pyramid
shaving kit computerphone falsie, each with its
own bizarre and convoluted Winchester house nipple
phone decoder ring.

Each one is actually
a secret agent, a blonde
Mexican-Azerbaijani hydraphone
reaching back into the ages
of the Earth's crust.

//

The Earth can be called anything:

Earcanal.
Chanel.
House of Ladyfag.
Dog day Afternoon.
Audio CD repair kit.

//

a sexy amoeba latte'
jacks off into a cellphone
while a nude white leather cordoba
sofa
explains the act
to a blind apocalyptic centaur robomower
with hotswap raid megamemory
and gatlinga swinga
rotary retro nipple foamphone metawares
for alveoli aureolas.

//


Ahmed,
my neck is the Allah-mot.

Davy Crocket. Llatte'.
Sam Houston. Soy Llatte Mocha Cream horns.
David Bowie. Dr. Scholl's African tooth loosener.
Jim Bridger. Intel's new Syntreno coffee analyzer and anal-nipple fropod.

//

Calvin Klein. Latte' colored silk banana dong.
Anne Klein. Coffee colored Vijay-jay head mole.

//

Then,
The Assassin says:

Is it All a Mot, or
All a Moot?

Silence falls, reality
conjoins into dial tone.

//