Among the tattered dwelling of the new found home, in the furthest cramped corner sat the shell of a goat head strangled in copper wire, scraped of its insides, unwashed behind the ears, fueling the crooked names spoken by leeches
To a thinning cowlick's fat his crippled limp, dragging along the hump of the floor. Sobbing from the smacking mouth of the demagogue wells, making wisecracks, spilling from the corners with their pink flinches, second glancing their every move
It ate pickled nose cartilage that fell from the ceilings, a pork skin drizzle unnerving the humans, while it read aloud from its favorite books, in glossolalia slang and haruspex truths, following a slow and patient wait, a mocking their hair as it was glued to their upper lip combover
Under the wall, the ships smeared by faithfully talking the magnum fanatics and their bottles of scalp soup
They cooked up a tardis smudge on their eyes, a lunar antidote that powdered underneath the oncoming pestilence of their idling fingers
It wrote them a seance, penetrated their every dependent desire
It hacked off the central headpiece to the collective
It wrote them a message in the marrow of the knife, with the extension of Baphomet* transfusion
Glued to the animals, perversions of their former selves, patiently biting their fingernails looking for a clue
As soon as it failed to appear, the faithful fell under the spell of public execution
It had been an eternity filled with useless ritual, and all for nothing, promising salvation, but only flags came swarming around for a better taste
What was left were the scraps, dressed in animal skin, defiled servants holding their breath, fatherless culprits blaming their kin, waiting for an answer
They thought a day would come, or a giraffe might choke in midair squeal, some sort of indication
Only it was the hands of the followers that had left their markings in neatly packed dunes filled with the decapitated remains, found sealed in sand
It only stained the conscious for a brief moment, then came disgust
Realizing there was nothing to it, people began collapsing in collective states of drought
Palm-size vents heating in the chest, cluttering the graph, a bladder full of remains
Nothing became of them because nothing was the reason, an apathetic display dripping into vats of obesity
The feud had been s**ing teeth for some time now, but the only baggage that paraded about was the curtain epidermis unfolded in an inebriated suit
The fit came suffocating, feathering the boa-constricted paleness, frostbitten, and shovel-faced
It came before them in utter confidence, flares of pink owls in the nest of albino eyelids blinking out chemical obscurities to the blind
It bloomed into a hemorrhaged contraption that impopulated the disenchanted, one by one
All the churches were converted into quarantine facilities, inside them grew bacterial stubble compacted by larvae, contracting and teething
A newborn litter degradively sufficient, running from the horse collarbone, amongst the murmuring femurs whimpering in fractures
"Are you the Polaroid shot you thought you were?", it said with a coy smirk
With the position now vacant, it waltzed right in and made itself at home
Seduced by the empty nominations at the altar of broken ballot boxes, closer to that nothingness that everyone seemed to embrace
As it pissed all over them, the sigh of relief steamed off the soaking depressants, an impending sleep was on its way