Dead Giveaway

Feast your eyes on the lung candy

as it whips through the air at a speed

marvellous save for the foul accents

protruding less in plumes and more in

ribbons, if you catch my drift, do not

resuscitate. So long and thanks for all

the cosmic indigestion. Not! You can bet 

your bottom dollar I'm looking at you, 

capital. The reheated heat death is a dead

giveaway. As is the mistrialled pause, 

singing claims. I kid you not. The barbaric

strut withers the question's mark. Play tonsil 

hockey at the exhumation of the toiler’s memory 

hole wrapped in bureaucracy. And for what? 

A door spot? The instant restoration of an imagined 

blueish-green? Listen, I want

to tell you the story of the plastic bag 

broadcasting workplace wellbeing webinars 

from the deepest trench in the known ocean, but 

I have desires on good authority. Go to the shops if 

you want to feast your eyes on the graveyard after 

an earthquake. It's not gambling if you get an 

accountant to do it. Someone else’s money 

will be on you again. Here lies a pony hung 

like a horse with no sick leave. I will grieve 

the absence of bereavement perks before hometime 

sits bolt upright from a coma party. End users hit 

notification bells above the infirmary. Meanwhile,

management invents Artificially Intelligent scabs, 

employs them at the laughter cannery. The chortles

are a dead giveaway. O how they clapped for that 

little sundial with its warted thresholds and rimmed 

malfeasance as it limped into the inescapable work

Christmas doo. Felt delete, might cute later. Feast 

your eyes 

on the nerve. No tombstones, no worries. Link inside 

biography. And might I add: detrital tightwad is 

not exactly becoming of an evening light. I'm telling 

you this because that's how they getcha. Outbribe the 

naughty boss. Crap plastic. Feast your eyes on the 

high octane loveliness. Share this memory. Home is 

where the shart is. Devolve. Shart if you agree. Chances 

appreciate. Worms love bread. And hair. But not too 

much bread. Say the loud part loudly and never 

comradely. Disregard saucily and let the good times 

payroll. Shitpost the pain away. Google Amazon.

6,430,000,000 results in 0.51 seconds and here I was 

thinking lungs of the earth. That’s how they getcha. 

Feast your eyes on the dead giveaway. Sit with your

order’s tracking information. Bury it deep beneath your

quicksand castle and check back tomorrow to see more 

gravequake disintegration method. Like the bubblegum 

in the urinal before it tumbled from your mouth, we hope 

you enjoy looking back and sharing the chapter of sky

you split at the spine for split’s sake. No tombstones, 

no worries. Feast your eyes. If I’m repeating myself it’s

because that’s how they getcha. It’s a dead giveaway.