Morning-Level Radiation

did you reprogram my cellphone, teleporter?
shapes the nasty toothed toothiness into ze bed of calm.
no, o dental manifestation-a-rama, i squeak.
who is sending me these crispy packets, then? it demands.


my mouse emanation runs to search through the twilight litter,
allowing at least ten more cycles on the imagination pills.
it's out there, scraping for your answer, i squeak to monsieur headache.
i don't care for your common buttonage, mr. 'let me jump through space and time one more time', he says.


i don't care, period, i squeak, avoiding his thumbs down,
leaping over the knuckle and snowboarding down the hairy arm.
pretty soon, it will be time to bungee off this damn ass.


comment appele tu? la voiture, est-elle dans votre garage?
ou est le bar de mer? pouvez-vous l'acheter?
ou pouvez-vous l'acheter?


mousey-me returns with the relevant details, but it's all
in chinese cuss-word encryption. as i meet my rodent around the os coxae,
becoming one, i swear asiatic at he who does not floss,
landing on my feet to warmly welcome morning-level radiation.