parking_garage epitome of incomprehensibility The landscape lay sere, paltry, and apt. Poultry laid eggs of various colours. I vomited the remains of crushed numbers. Grey exponents wrecked, howled, calmed. Today was the quay of reckoning. I broke apart a quail’s egg, asked what it meant by getting laid. The blob inside jiggled gelid, its giggles linear expressions. Quench my thirst for eyelid humour in a suspended second, like a drop of midair as guttural hums clash with retching, irate child warper-poets, mathematicians of clay. Love is a glove best washed. For best results, wet the paper and glow. Adult, I’m now a graphed metric of okay. (A late-night image yawn, this felt blathery: too nonsensical to submit to a poetry contest but too wordiful to discard altogether.) 160715 what's it to you? who go blather from