It’s Friday
The parasite planet, writhing with worms with blood-red sound machines that are wheezing and blaring twenty-four hours a day causing tiny spheres to pulse forth and emanate out from the center of a much larger sphere and they hover, they’re eggs and
they land in the kitchen, bounce on the countertops into the sink and we’re starving and have not eaten for thirty-two days so we scramble some of the eggs with oregano and they hatch in the skillet with squinched up faces with babies without bodies and
we’re so hungry, we don’t care and now they invade our bodies and inflate our organs they inflate and deflate see they’re turning us brown inside and make organs stop working so
we sit in paralysis, nothing else to say, nothing else to say because this is our life now we were just hungry and
it’s Saturday
