Abora

queso, or how ginsberg morphed my heart into cheese

‚Äč 2/9/18 1:41AM  

Swiss cheese ventricles! Beating a fountain!

Virulent falsities and half lies!

Dead cultures, archaeology curd, timeless aloofness!  

 

Queso! All is consumed in my dairy, whose machinery is grinding away at pedestals! Cry out in Queso!

Queso! Corny’s terrible anklebiter cousin, whose detriments are seen only in chaos! Revive in Queso!

Queso! Whose eyes are intolerant, and transmit irradiated sorrow! Smolder in Queso!  

 

Queso in human skin! Gruyere and a lone man, whose hair is now mold, and grills cracked!  

Queso! Whose gluttonous breath is mild in its cut, and honed in its negative!

Queso! Whose energy is curdling, salacious tribal dances, devoid of all nutrition!

Queso! Whose mind is melted, under pickling spices, soured cream and silver linings!

Queso! Whose cheese is always hot, and honest in intention!

Queso! Whose broken shreds are all collages, thimbleful of reality!

Queso! Who is dipped in stale saltines, pairing with cheap grain alcohol and words!

Queso! Who is bubbling at deep eyes and sardonic knitters, clementine spirals!  

 

Queso! Whose grasp is ignored by tone deaf sirens, luring into rocks! Shriek white girl in Queso!

Queso! Rudderless sailing on seas of Genny, whose destinations are found only in dismememberment! Fatality in Queso!

Queso! Whose heart is made of curds, and is mangled in butterchurners! Reassemble in Queso!

 

Manchego aorta! Rising in pressure!

Pumping hot, losing in rhythm!

Folktale delusions, campfires in nostalgia!



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