Your laugh
is the upper and lower mandibulars
cracking back and forth,
like the tail of a whip.
Your handshake
is a clinking trove
of small bones.
Your smile
is a defecation
in the mouths of children.
Your heart
is a plant pot
full of earthworms.
Your joy
is a murder of crows.
Your lungs
are slabs of filmy sac
grabbing for air.
Your brain
is a bath of acid
dissolving dead animals.
Your words
are rusted 19th century shells,
removed from the dead bodies
of brave soldiers.
Your liver
is a leaking car battery.
Your tongue is a severed tentacle
feeling its way about for sense.
Your teeth are flecks of snow
struck white, and fossilised,
in fear.
And your thoughts are the
impatient crunch of gears
on a sweet dispensing machine
as you turn and turn,
and feast on a small prize.
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