Walter Is Grotesque Theatre Physiology

I could keep replaying that conspiracy,
all the conspiracies I suspect, but
puppets end up being funny

when they're boken.

My neck is broken.
My neck is broken.

Hopalong Cassidy
has bovine gene mutations.

They are limiting my chances

of being another beaked screaching
thing-beast-icon-computer
in a beautiful wreathe of heads
found hanging the gargdens of burabylon
or just gardens of babylon
for those unused to
excessice drawstringth.

By the rivers of the Babylon
where we went down, yay yay yay

'you will think with icons'

yay yay ayay..

you could have been named

Bobo Zodd
and had human blood
you had stolen
pulsing through your
black licorice armor
you brain-breasts
in wintertime.

[that's a poem: brainbreasts in wintertime]

you could have been fitted
with a crystalline panther skull
and given massive doses
of red mushroom paste
to awaken
in an agate stomach of
amethyst furniture people
twinkling
and wringling their own

geode stomach principles
at you.

When parrots cover my body
snapping at you, and shreiking,
you will know

that Doctor Doolittle
has
Donemuch.