Foot on a dead man switch. Dull stutter of dusty wings. Take it apart. Slip it all the way down. Little fragments of broken time glimmer in static snowfall. Slick power laps – attacks – The crack of digital whips gone slack. A scourge of electric meat – amok. Insane primates masquerade empathy for drizzling, gagging, spattering heartbeasts. Sour facades flake away into a brine of miss Conception. Wallow in blood like liquor dragging through serrated tubes with no purpose but for the flaccid tangles of choking tapeworm wreaths. Renewal of lag. Jittering disease healing the ripe flesh. Recommitted to rot. Tattered bank note rip the white umbilical. Degenerative glass spider latch at the cluster. Secrete against the monument of trash. A moth at the window. Another man has all the milk and I have none.