He enters steadily, devouring the pills so so.
Done with the ruins of drag and let live, exit plans, and soft sleep that leaned, follows, too drastic an infestation to rummage a star for worms in the heart, exactly the day of the dead, we wound around each bottle like a bay needs its baba, vertical Kama Sutra, butts smell strange, exact refuse, the stolen handful of tobacco stain in deep foliage, wandering alternate dimensions; other lives that stack down into a fuel (to be or to become rolled up into coils)

 

 

“Dance with sweat, so staged, exact ferns uncurl the odors of us.”

The box is a black velvet lined stare into the can, so mine, it’s named “Foz”, pulling metamorphosis, health, a supernatural discovery, dance for me, I, finger tips,

Without grabbing a little wild animal, the mischief, a figurine, shape of Carla, Sleep.

 

 

Static embryo-(exact) [ Space station full of white siberian tigers.]

[insert your dick into the computers]
The tiny plastic vaginal tiger play in the coy pond –
Up in the shadow a maple tree quivers urgent, universe (pull back the curtain) frozen with galactic under-verse, dangling nipple pears, a treasure grows slow silence, a motor made of wooden felt slows and cools numbers in her shaded dharma eyes across from conduit 2, bitch is at 3.

 

 

My child, an astronaut who cannot occur, who stands straight dream, in his drunken star, the mare wanders alone, two rough milky way minds, existing space, a holding dream, the aging exact night, from the russian glob, the lips glob. He enters a kind of satellite space, climbs aboard station numbered five-fifteen with a family, it’s morning. Climbs aboard, whisper, a routine check of the locket, fragmentation, on the satellite had been ordered weeks prior, and for the russian government, things took time, evidence of technical difficulties regarding the ship had been reported, and although a small, mostly unused satellite, Harver station needed it to test certain qualities of weather. The windows glazed in perspiration, ice, and small crystals, he enters steadily.
Outside, piles of plastic computers are inspected by members of the team for the color red. Below, the planet Earth forms storm clouds. He enters and finds he is not alone, standing in the middle of a pack of Bengal tigers lounging around purring one in the middle of licking his paws clean. He stands frozen drifting up off of the ground. Teeth gnaw, chew into bark, the inspection outside resumes. The cat’s purr, licking their paws, staring intently at the intruder. He floats there frozen. Any sudden attempt to escape could prove deadly.
A piece of screen is recovered, placed back to the parking shuttle, by sling fried and Boy the other members of the team of astronauts serve veggie chili and steak with GMO’s to the tongues of the tigers.

 

 

A tiny bottle walks into the paper sun, before releasing the liquids to anti gravity. Through the center of blue lines, to a shadow, the paper rolls like a wave, and a member of the team enters after the frozen astronaut surrounded in bengal tigers. She carries liquid in her delicate, ringed hands.
Dangled over the horizon, the siberian cat floats out of the station, chewing on the first astronaut, and looks lovingly at the second as she enters, a broken chair and a backyard yard fence hang next to her head in the skyline, the tiger playing with the blood droplets floating to the ceiling, the cat paws at them, playing imaginary guitar. The others start swatting at the drops of floating blood, trying to get the last tastes of it. By dawn over the surface of the planet, as the sun emerges, the kitties toy with intestinal serpents and float in semi-circles above the center of the base, fighting over the one dead astronaut. One cat puts on a helmet and it sits crooked over his ears.
        “I was right to imagine Separate felt fingers inside
The eyes of the second astronaut.” he says to the next astronaut.
Machines follow download steps, another cat mutters russian to her partner which is barely heard but picked up at Harvey Station. The Bengals yawn, and then perch low, as the pounce, carefully, a graph of numbers float passed in between the tigers and their next victim, these numbers grow, sagging like roots, and vines hanging between the victim and the predators, a low rumbling sound emits from the perched, about to pounce.
Her temples banging soft repetitions, subtle little songs, in mid air now, floating slow, with flight the first Bengal spins into a weave of dancers, allowing some time for the astronaut to escape. Words that surface the edge of the radio get to her partner, she feels threading lips into her thigh, and it burns.
In her mind the lake with cables like arms, forms, moving up from under the water, legs that wander in metal flights land now in the skin of the earth, tearing into an animal, the tangle of Irish memories, when her father was a baby boy, brief momentum, after dream.
Sic.
A female climbs reflections in the helmet now. Tree lines one universal eye ~
A dream occurs

 

 

Two rough stars whiten the sky for a long while, holding her, as she walks her white horse into the distance, through space, into the milky way.
The aging night stalks along the satellite for another fresh victim, the five Bengal tigers lick their lips. Following the floating blood, Lips detail, talks in dreams like a calendar, spinning on a globe
The Night stalks along a thin river
Isis, doing research for participants welcome and very long dream.
(walk aging boards, gracefully touching soft danger
Singing tea through the ancient New York boroughs)
Brief momentum after dream
Sic.
A female motorcycle climbs the
Tree near the wires of town, hanging buckets of

 

Red paint to the passing flames~
Last night is upon a waking morning, the characterized falatio opens eyes in an ocean of broken cars, trucks and vertebrae, described as “a sea of machines.”
There is a possible oceanic reference here, language as sea. Specifics are being researched now.

 

 

Car and truck waves (detail) beneath crashing waves, Vehicles cross power lines over a city. Nadia Wakes, and wipes her encrusted eyelids.
             A sea all futures rises out there. Rusted away through time, she melts into the cloth of the bed, and dazed, her hands squeeze up the soft forest floor, little pine needles from a wool hat summer, women open their doors, so to seat the tesla coils and lightbulbs hanging sound waves dark in the lines of the blue sky from the window.
A reflection of family walking through the vehicular waves that crash onto the shoreline, cars swim trunks pass fish, malleable alloy fins, they hold their little boys hand.

 

 

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Fin Sorrel is the author of Caramel Floods (Pski Porch, 2017) and runs mannequin haus (infii2.weebly.com). He drinks too much.