Let your mind float to asparagus
spreadsheets, dream of flights
boarded and bagged, filed away
in cardboard fontanels, skillful
incisions catalogue foreskins.
Flap on past Parisian lilts,
partisan-flagged blimps, or little
pixel men plumbing princesses,
toad licked revivals conjured
half-hearted on blown cartridges.
Everything sucks on something
leeched bloodless but oddly
pinked, pretty shades like lychee
or lemonades sold without
inflation by comic-strip kids.
That dog chases papers, boy —
bits increase exponential, figure
eight sweet sixteens, sixty-four
motion sensitive lovers, eyes
ping coins each time you level.
Neal Kitterlin lives in Matteson, Illinois with his wife and child. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in PANK, NAP, Bluestem, The Northville Review, and other fine publications, as well as on the insides of eyelids. He can sometimes be found at infinitegestures.tumblr.com or on twitter @NealKitterlin.