By JD Nelson
The spider of large Atari, the invisible name. Who made it the Ringo Starr of yellow?
Dark matter Motrin, a calendar of eyes. Yes, the iron pipe and Monday is the half.
A pile of fingers with striped yes. The yogurt shoe with pie and spiders.
A castle of the future prosaic.
“I didn’t order any poison,” I said, and the floating head with the beaker in its teeth flew back to its nest.
And now, a little hole where my period should be.