Clock Milk:

They’ve managed to gentrify my rash!
Gastronomic pleasures and their rival,
I say,
“my tiny deaths salt these plates and you dare as for seconds?!”
…

We create neither foetal snow nor summertime nightmare in the hornier maze.

Slow dissolve away from scales of water in war-green silica glacial womb-light ulcering acidised eggshell from gray horizon of sprained honeycomb of a slit-out pupil
…