Interestingly,
without his usual rancor,
about redundant cycles,
he noticed an emerging
pustule oozing from
the center of its
well formed buttock, which
lacked a companion due to
being winded after
-Imp
sucking in too much
cream from the middle of a Twinkie, yet
could still be felt like a phantom limb, yearning
to be re-united with its cruelly sundered twin, whilst, ironically also
enjoying not being parted, as if
being parted were only half a buttock’s quest, the other being
unable to shatter the ribbon at the finishline unlike
-Imp
A pock-marked 100m runner with bunched shoulders and a steroidal smile, pushing pushing
and pushing again, but never creating a movement, except for
making like a fetus and heading out until
-Imp
hoisted high, tremulous in the cold antiseptic breeze, awaiting the descent of the doctor’s hand; silent, blue